THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE    LAND    OF    LONG    AGO 


HERE'S  A  PICTURE  o'  HENRIETTA'S  HOUSE,  CHILD.'  " 
FRONTISPIECE,  See  Page  119. 


Sfev§ 
£§*£ 


3<?~ 


Land  of 

Long  Ago 

By 

Eliza  CalvertHall 

Author  of 

"Aunt  Jane  of  Kentucky" 


Illustrated  by 

G.  Patrick  Nelson 

& 
Beulah  Strong 


-_MJ 


Boston 

Little,  Brown.S  Company 
1911 


Copyright,  1907,  1908,  1909, 
BY  COSMOPOLITAN  PUBLISHING  COMPANY. 

Copyright,  1909, 
BY  LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY. 


All  rights  reserved 


Published,  September,  1909 
Fourth  Printing 


Printers 
8.  J.  PARKHILL  <fc  Co.,  BOSTOX,  U.  8.  A. 


PS 
1 

ant 


TO 

(t&ittren, 

MARGERY,  ALEXANDER,  THOMAS,  AND  CECILIA, 
I  DEDICATE  THIS  BOOK 


CHAPTERS 


PAGE 

I.  A  RIDE  TO  TOWN  .  1 


II.  THE  HOUSE  THAT  WAS 

A  WEDDING  FEE  .          37 


III    THE  COURTSHIP  OF  Miss 

AMARYLLIS  75 


IV.  AUNT  JANE  GOES  A- VIS 
ITING    .  .109 


V.   THE   MARRIAGE   PROB 
LEM  IN  GOSHEN    .      .143 


VI.   AN  EYE  FOR  AN  EYE     .  171 


VII.  THE    REFORMATION    OF 

SAM  AMOS  .  .207 


VIII.   IN  WAR  TIME    .      .      .235 
IX.  THE  WATCH  MEETING  .  271 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


" '  HERE'S     A     PICTURE     o'     HENRIETTA'S 

HOUSE,    CHILD  '  "  ....    FRONTISPIECE 

"  I    KNOW    THE     DELICATE    DIFFERENCES   AND 
RESEMBLANCES    BETWEEN   THE   ODORS  OF 

INDIVIDUAL  ROSES  " Page    14 


Miss  PENELOPE  AND  Miss  AMARYLLIS  . 

"  '  ONE      MORNING      SHE      CONCLUDED      SHE'D 
STRAIGHTEN    OUT    HENRY'S   TRUNK  '  "       . 

"  IT    WAS    THE    TIME    OF    THE    BLOOMING    OF 
THE    WISTARIA  " 

"  '  THE      GLASS      BROKE      INTO     A     HUNDRED 
PIECES  '  " 

"'DAVID!    JONATHAN!    MY  BOYS!    WHERE 
ARE  YOU  ?  '  " 

"REVERENTLY  SHE  LAID  THE  HEAVY  CALF- 
BOUND   VOLUME  ACROSS   HER  KNEES  "     . 


80 
148 
173 
229 
257 
290 


PROLOGUE 

We  are  so  near  to  those  who  dwell 
In  the  dear  land  whereof  I  tell ! 
Sometimes  when  we  are  far  astray, 
Their  spirit-hands  may  guide  our  way  ; 
And  if  we  would  but  pause  to  hear, 
What  whispered  words  of  tender  cheer 
Might  come  on  those  fine  airs  that  blow 
From  the  strange  Land  of  Long  Ago  t 

The  scenes  are  changed,  but  we  and  they 
Are  actors  in  the  same  old  play. 
Their  blood  is  in  our  throbbing  veins; 
Their  hopes  and  joys,  their  griefs  and  pains, 
Bind  us  fore'er  to  squire  or  churl, 
To  stately  dame  or  laughing  girl,  — 
Those  shades  that  wander  to  and  fro 
In  the  dim  Land  of  Long  Ago. 

Then  let  the  present  hour  go  by. 
Turn  back  awhile,  and  you  and  I 
Through  quiet  garden  paths  may  stray 
Where  blooms  the  rose  of  yesterday, 
vii 


PROLOGUE 

May  meet  brave  men  and  women  fair 
Who  sang  life's  song  to  simple  air; 
Mark  how  their  homely  virtues  glow!- 
O  pleasant  Land  of  Long  Ago! 


Vlll 


I 

A    RIDE    TO    TOWN 


A  RIDE  TO  TOWN 

"AKE  haste,  child,"  called  Aunt  Jane;  "  there's 
mighty  little  time  between  dinner  and  sun 
down,  and  if  we're  goin'  to  town  we'd  better  be  startin'." 
Aunt  Jane  came  out  of  the  house,  drawing  on  a 
pair  of  silk  gloves.  She  was  arrayed  in  her  best  gown 
of  black  alpaca,  a  silk-fringed  cape  covered  her 
shoulders,  her  poke  bonnet  was  draped  with  a  veil  of 

3 


THE    LAND    OF    LONG    AGO 

figured  lace,  and  under  the  lace  her  face  shone  with 
happy  anticipation,  for  a  lifetime  of  trips  to  town  had 
not  dulled  her  enjoyment  of  such  an  event. 

The  horse  and  buggy  stood  at  the  gate.  The  former 
had  a  pedigree  as  long  as  that  of  the  penniless  lass, 
and  Aunt  Jane  could  tell  many  wonderful  tales  of 
Nelly's  spirit  and  speed  in  the  days  of  her  youth. 
Some  remnant  of  this  fire  was  supposed  to  smolder 
yet  in  the  old  thoroughbred,  but  as  I  looked  at  the 
drooping  head  and  half-shut  eyes,  I  saw  there  was 
good  reason  for  Aunt  Jane's  haste,  if  we  were  expected 
to  get  back  from  town  before  nightfall. 

"  What  are  we  going  to  town  for  ?  "  I  asked,  as  I 
stepped  into  the  buggy  and  took  up  the  reins. 

Aunt  Jane  hesitated.  "  Well,"  she  said,  "  I'm  goin'  to 
lay  in  a  supply  o'  soda  and  cream  o'  tartar,  and  I  may 
buy  some  gyarden  seed  and  one  thing  or  another.  I  ain't 
exactly  out  o'  soda  and  cream  o'  tartar,  and  I  could  git 
the  seed  from  some  o'  the  neighbors.  I  reckon  if 
the  truth  was  told,  I'm  goin'  to  town  jest  to  be  a-goin'." 

A  certain  English  humorist,  who  is  not  so  well  known 
to  this  generation  as  Mark  Twain,  once  wrote  a  page 
of  gentle  satire  about  those  misguided  people  who  leave 
their  native  land  to  travel  in  foreign  countries.  He 

4 


A    RIDE    TO    TOWN 

finds  but  three  reasons  for  their  folly:  "  infirmity  of 
body,  imbecility  of  mind,  and  inevitable  necessity  "  ; 
and  the  whole  circle  of  such  travelers  he  classifies 
under  the  following  heads:  the  Idle,  the  Inquisitive, 
the  Lying,  the  Proud,  the  Vain,  and  the  Splenetic. 
Had  he  gone  a  little  farther  into  his  subject,  he  might 
have  written  approvingly  of  the  Innocent  Traveler, 
who,  on  a  May  day,  sets  forth  to  go  from  his  home  in 
the  country  to  the  near-by  town,  all  for  the  mere 
pleasure  of  traveling. 

Why,  indeed,  should  the  desire  for  travel  send  one 
across  oceans  or  over  continents?  Wherever  we  go 
we  find  only  the  old  earth  and  the  old  sky,  and,  under 
varying  forms  of  dress  and  complexion,  the  same  old 
humanity  of  which  we  are  a  part.  Does  not  the  sun 
rise  or  set  as  splendidly  over  some  blue  Kentucky 
hill  as  over  the  Jungfrau  ?  Is  the  daisy  on  Mars  Hill 
any  fairer  than  the  daisy  that  opens  its  petals  on  any 
meadow  of  the  New  World?  And  if  historic  associa 
tions  are  the  aim  of  your  wanderings,  turn  the  pages 
of  some  old  school  history,  or  send  your  memory  on  a 
backward  pilgrimage  to  the  olden  days,  and  a  country 
road  may  carry  you  into  a  past  as  glorious  as  that  which 
lies  along  the  Appian  Way. 

5 


THE    LAND    OF    LONG    AGO 

For  a  long  time  we  rode  in  silence.  On  crowded 
streets  and  in  towns  one  must  talk;  but  out  of  doors 
in  the  country  there  is  a  Voice  continually  speaking 
in  a  language  as  old  as  the  song  of  the  morning  stars, 
and  if  the  soul  hears  that,  human  words  are  not  needed. 

Aunt  Jane  was  the  first  to  speak.  "  Ain't  it  sweet 
and  peaceful  this  time  o'  the  year!"  she  said.  "I 
look  at  these  pretty  fields  and  woods  all  fenced  in, 
with  good  roads  runnin'  alongside,  and  it  don't  seem 
like  it  could  be  jest  a  little  more'n  two  generations 
between  now  and  the  time  when  this  was  the  Dark 
and  Bloody  Ground,  and  the  white  men  was  fightin' 
with  Indians  and  bears  and  wildcats  to  git  possession 
of  it.  Why,  right  over  there  on  that  ridge  o'  hills  is 
the  place  where  Sam  Amos's  grandfather  run  the 
ga'ntlet  when  he  was  captured  by  the  Indians.  Sam 
used  to  have  the  old  tow-linen  shirt  with  the  blood 
stains  and  the  cut  on  the  shoulder  where  one  o'  the 
Indians  struck  him  with  a  tomahawk.  I  ricollect 
Parson  Page  used  to  say  that  life  was  jest  a  runnin' 
of  the  ga'ntlet.  There's  enemies  on  each  side  of  us, 
and  every  one  of  'em  is  strikin'  at  us.  And  we  can't 
run  away,  and  we  know  that  there's  one  stroke  comin' 
some  time  or  other  that's  certain  to  bring  us  down. 

6 


A    RIDE    TO    TOWN 

And  all  we've  got  to  do  is  to  stand  up  and  keep  goin' 
right  on,  and  be  ready  for  the  last  blow,  whenever  it 
happens  to  fall.  And  here's  Devil's  Holler,"  she  con 
tinued;  "  look  down  that  bluff,  and  you'll  see  it." 

I  looked  and  saw  a  deep  cup-shaped  valley,  dark 
with  the  shadows  of  overhanging  rocks  and  trees,  and 
luxuriant  with  ferns  and  underbrush  that  grew  rankly 
out  of  soil  made  rich  by  the  drifted  leaves  of  a  hundred 
autumns. 

"  Some  folks  say  that  the  old  stage  road  used  to 
run  past  here,  and  a  band  o'  robbers  used  to  hide  by 
the  side  o'  the  road  and  waylay  the  stage  and  rob  the 
passengers,  and  maybe  murder  'em  and  bury  their 
bodies  at  the  bottom  o'  the  holler.  And "  —  she 
lowered  her  voice  — "  some  folks  say  the  place  is 
ha'nted.  Sam  Amos  declared  the  devil  come  out  o' 
that  holler  and  chased  him  for  hah0  a  mile  one  dark 
night  when  he  was  late  comin'  home  from  town.  But 
I  reckon  the  only  devil  that  chased  Sam  was  the  devil 
in  the  bottom  of  his  whiskey-jug,  and  Uncle  Billy 
Bascom  says  there  never  was  any  stage  line  along  this 
road  within  his  ricollection.  So  there  you  are;  don't 
know  what  to  believe  and  what  not  to  believe." 

Just  here  the  road  made  a  steep,  upward  curve, 
7 


THE    LAND    OF    LONG    AGO 

and  we  looked  down  on  the  clear,  green  ripples  of  a 
river  that  wound  between  high  rocky  cliffs  on  one 
hand,  and  on  the  other  vast  fields  of  corn  growing 
lustily  in  the  deep,  rich  soil. 

"  Why  should  such  a  pretty  little  river  be  called 
the  Barren  River  ?  "  I  asked.  "  There  isn't  anything 
barren  about  the  river  or  the  country  around  it." 

Aunt  Jane's  eyes  sparkled.  She  was  capable  of 
answering  the  question,  for  it  touched  a  page  of  ancient 
history  that  was  to  her  a  twice-told  tale.  "  You  see 
all  these  trees,  child  ?  "  she  said  impressively,  waving 
her  hand  in  the  direction  of  the  luxuriant  masses  of 
foliage.  "  Jest  look  at  that  tulip-tree  yonder,  eighty 
feet  high,  I  reckon,  and  the  flowers  standin'  up  all  over 
it  like  the  gold  candlesticks  the  Bible  tells  about.  You 
wouldn't  think  all  these  trees  could  grow  up  since  the 
first  settlers  come  through  here.  But  I've  heard  father 
tell  about  it  many  a  time.  He  said  the  Indians  used  to 
set  fire  to  the  woods  and  the  fields,  and  when  the  first 
settlers  come  through  here,  they  called  this  the  Barrens 
on  account  o'  there  bein'  no  trees,  and  they  passed  by 
all  this  good  land  and  went  further  up  on  Gasper 
River,  where  there  was  springs  comin'  out  o'  the  hills 
and  plenty  of  trees.  You  see,  there's  two  things  a 

8 


A    RIDE    TO    TOWN 

settler  has  to  have:  wood  and  water;  and  that's  why 
the  country  up  around  Gasper  was  settled  before  this 
was,  and  this  got  the  name  of  the  Barrens,  when  there 
ain't  a  richer  lot  o'  ground  anywhere. 

"  And  speakin'  of  names,  honey,  did  I  ever  tell  you 
how  Kittle  Creek  got  its  name  ? 

"  Well,  now,  folks  has  been  laughin'  about  that 
story  for  the  last  seventy-five  years,  and  I  reckon  they'll 
keep  on  laughin'  as  long  as  there's  a  old  man  or  a  old 
woman  like  me  livin'  to  tell  it; "  and  Aunt  Jane  began 
laughing  in  advance  of  the  story. 

"The  right  name  o'  Kittle  Creek  is  Clear  Fork," 
she  said,  "  but  it's  been  Kittle  Creek  ever  since  old  man 
Sam  Stapleton  give  it  that  name.  And  this  was  the 
way  of  it.  Old  man  Sam  lived  on  the  fur  side  o'  the 
creek,  and  he  was  in  the  habit  o'  comin'  to  town  every 
once  in  a  while  to  lay  in  his  groceries  and  such  things, 
and  every  time  he'd  come  to  town  he'd  git  his  jug 
filled,  of  course,  and  drink  all  along  the  way  home; 
but  by  the  time  he'd  git  to  Clear  Fork  he  wouldn't 
know  where  he  was,  or  who  he  was,  or  which  way  he 
was  goin'.  He  was  a  mighty  good-hearted  man,  but 
that  jug  was  his  besettin'  sin. 

"  Well,  one  evenin'  he  was  comin'  home  the  usual 
9 


THE    LAND    OF    LONG    AGO 

way,  him  and  the  jug,  and  he  got  to  the  creek  and 
concluded  he'd  git  off  his  horse  and  lay  down  and  take 
a  little  nap.  Some  o'  the  women  folks  in  that  neighbor 
hood  had  been  doin'  their  washin'  that  day,  and  there 
was  a  big  iron  kittle  on  the  bank  set  up  on  some  stones 
where  they'd  b'iled  their  clothes.  Old  man  Sam  laid 
down  by  the  kittle  and  went  to  sleep.  Pretty  soon  he 
got  awake  and  set  up  and  rubbed  his  eyes,  and  took 
notice  of  the  kittle,  and  says  he, 

'* '  Have  I  crossed  this  creek  or  not  ?  '  says  he. 
*  It  appears  to  me  like  I've  seen  this  kittle  before,  but 
whether  it  was  on  this  side  o'  the  creek  or  the  other, 
to  save  my  life  I  can't  tell.' 

"  Then  he  studied  a  while  and  says  he, 
"  '  Well,  I'll  give  myself  the  benefit  of  the  doubt.' 
So  he  crossed  the  creek,  got  off  his  horse  and  set 
down  in  the  shade,  and  took  a  drink  out  o'  the  jug  and 
fell  asleep  again.  After  a  while  he  woke  up  and  looked 
around,  and  says  he :  '  Here  I  am  again,  and  here's 
the  creek,  and  yonder 's  that  old  kittle  jest  as  natural 
as  life.  But  what  I  want  to  know  is,  am  I  agoin'  to 
town,  or  am  I  comin'  back  home  ?  '  And  he  looked  at 
the  sun,  and  says  he,  '  Judgin'  by  the  way  that  sun 
looks,  it  might  be  nine  o'clock  in  the  mornin',  and  it 

10 


A    RIDE    TO    TOWN 

might  be  three  o'clock  in  the  evenin';  and  not  bein' 
a  Solomon  I  ain't  able  to  decide  which  it  is,  but  I'll 
take  my  chances  and  go  across  the  creek.' 

"  So  across  the  creek  he  went,  took  another  drink, 
and  laid  down  and  fell  asleep  right  by  the  kittle. 
Pretty  soon  he  woke  up  the  third  time,  and  says  he: 
'  Well,  if  here  ain't  that  old  kittle  again !  Howdy, 
Mr.  Kittle!  Can  you  tell  me  which  way  I'm  goin', 
and  whether  it's  mornin'  or  evenin'  ?  ' 

"  Well,  the  kittle  didn't  answer ;  and  the  old  man 
set  there  and  thought  a  while,  and  then  he  crossed  the 
creek  and  took  another  drink  and  another  nap,  and 
crossed  again,  and  there  was  the  same  old  kittle,  and  he 
looked  at  it  and  give  it  a  kick,  and  says  he :  'I  never 
saw  as  many  blame  kittles  in  all  my  life  as  I've  seen 
to-day.  I  reckon  this  must  be  Kittle  Creek.' ' 

Aunt  Jane  paused  to  join  in  my  laughter. 

"  I  always  thought  it  was  a  shame  to  laugh  at  a 
poor  drunkard,"  she  resumed,  "  but  old  man  Sam  told 
the  Kittle  Creek  story  on  himself.  I  don't  reckon 
he  thought  he  was  changin'  the  name  of  Clear  Fork 
Creek,  but  from  that  time  on  nobody  ever  called  it 
anything  but  Kittle  Creek." 

She  stopped  and  peered  over  the  side  of  the  buggy. 
11 


THE    LAND    OF    LONG    AGO 

Her  keen  eyes  had  detected  a  change  in  the  road.  There 
had  been  no  rain  for  a  week,  but  the  horse's  hoofs 
and  the  wheels  of  our  buggy  had  suddenly  ceased  to 
raise  any  dust. 

"  Looks  like  there'd  been  a  shower  here  lately," 
she  remarked;  "  but  I  don't  see  any  sign  o'  rain  except 
right  here  in  the  middle  o'  the  road." 

"  Perhaps  this  is  the  oiled  road,  Aunt  Jane,"  said  I. 

"That's  jest  what  it  is!"  exclaimed  Aunt  Jane 
delightedly.  "  Uncle  Billy  Bascom  was  tellin'  me 
about  the  new-fangled  way  they  had  of  layin'  the  dust, 
but  it  didn't  seem  to  me  like  oil'd  mix  with  dust  any 
more'n  it  will  with  water.  That  shows  how  little  old 
folks  knows.  Well,  ain't  this  nice!  Ridin'  along  in 
dry  weather  and  never  raisin'  a  bit  o'  dust!  Uncle 
Billy  didn't  approve  o'  the  oiled  roads.  He  says,  says 
he,  '  Jane,  it  looks  to  me  like  them  town  folks  won't 
never  git  through  circumventin'  Providence.'  Says  he, 
'  They've  got  their  gas  and  their  'lectricity,  so's  it 
don't  make  a  bit  o'  difference  whether  the  sun  or  the 
moon  or  the  stars  shines  or  not.  And  they've  got 
their  'lectric  fans,  which  makes  'em  independent  of 
the  wind  blowin',  and  now  they're  fixin'  the  roads  so's 
they  won't  have  to  pray  for  rain.'  Says  he,  *  It  looks 

12 


A    RIDE    TO    TOWN 

like  they're  tryin'  to  git  rid  of  all  sense  o'  dependence 
on  the  Almighty;  but  as  for  me,'  says  he,  '  I've  got  my 
pegs  sot,  and  I  ain't  goin'  to  have  my  brains  all  tore 
up  follerin'  after  new  ways.' 

"  That's  jest  like  Uncle  Billy.  But  all  the  time  I'm 
ridin'  along  this  road  I'm  feelin'  thankful  to  Provi 
dence  that  he  made  the  oil,  and  then  made  people  with 
enough  sense  to  know  that  oil  would  settle  dust.  There's 
no  use  stickin'  to  old  ways  unless  they're  better  than  the 
new  ways." 

Just  then  there  was  a  whir  of  wings  from  a  fence 
corner,  and  a  moment  later  a  liquid  voice  sounded 
over  the  clover  field, 

Bob  White,  is  your  wheat  ripe  ? 

Most  birds  have  a  song  of  but  one  season.  The  blue 
bird,  for  instance,  sings  only  of  spring;  but  in  the 
two  simple  notes  of  the  partridge  there  is  the  melody 
of  falling  water,  a  song  of  April's  pale-green  fields,  a 
song  of  summer's  golden  grain,  and  another  of  autumn's 
scarlet  leaf  and  frosty  morning. 

"  That's  a  voice  that  won't  be  heard  in  the  land 
much  longer,"  remarked  Aunt  Jane;  "  and  when  it 
does  stop,  it'll  be  like  missin'  a  voice  from  the  church 

13 


THE    LAND    OF    LONG    AGO 

choir.  The  wild  things  are  disappearin'  one  by  one. 
The  deer's  all  gone,  and  even  squirrels  are  gittin'  so 
skeerce  the  legislature '11  have  to  pass  a  law  to  protect 
'em.  And  I'm  bound  to  say  the  first  settlers  is  a  good 
deal  to  blame  for  it  all.  Game  was  so  plentiful  in  them 
early  days  that  nobody  thought  about  it  ever  givin' 
out.  Every  man  was  a  hunter  —  he  had  to  be  to 
provide  his  family  with  meat  —  and  I've  heard  father 
say  that  every  boy  in  them  days  was  born  with  a  gun 
in  his  hand.  Old  Jonathan  Petty,  Silas's  father,  had 
nine  sons,  all  of  'em  sharpshooters.  They  used  to 
shoot  at  squirrels  for  a  mark,  and  if  they  hit  the  squirrel 
anywhere  but  in  the  head,  old  Jonathan'd  give  'em  a 
good  whippin'.  That  sort  o'  trainin'  was  bound  to 
make  a  boy  a  good  marksman,  but  it  was  hard  on 
the  squirrels." 

I  had  thought  myself  deeply  learned  in  the  lore  of 
sweet  odors.  I  know  that  the  orient  spells  of  sandal- 
wood  can  intoxicate  like  the  opium-pipe  or  the  draught 
of  Indian  hemp.  I  know  the  delicate  differences  and 
resemblances  between  the  odors  of  individual  roses. 
I  know  that  when  nature  made  the  coarse  hollyhock, 
she  gave  it  the  almond  perfume  that  floats  over  the 
waves  of  the  Hellespont  from  the  petals  of  the  patrician 

14 


A    RIDE    TO    TOWN 

oleander  growing  on  its  banks.  And  I  know  that,  in 
the  same  mood,  she  dowered  the  vulgar  horseweed  with 
the  breath  of  the  mignonette.  Every  odor  is  to  me  as  a 
note  of  music,  and  I  know  the  discords  and  harmonies  in 
the  long,  long  scale  of  perfume.  I  know  that  heliotrope 
and  mignonette  make  a  dissonance,  and  heliotrope  and 
tea-roses  a  perfect  third ;  that  there  is  a  chord  of  melody 
in  heliotrope,  tea-roses,  and  honeysuckle;  and  in  the 
orange-blossom  or  tuberose  a  dominant  note  that  is 
stronger  than  any  symphony  of  perfume  that  can  be 
composed  from  summer's  garden-beds.  There  are 
perfumes  as  evanescent  as  the  dreams  of  youth,  and 
others  as  persistent  as  the  memories  of  childhood. 
Go  into  the  fields  in  February,  gather  the  dead  penny 
royal  that  has  stood  through  the  rains  and  snows  of  a 
long  winter,  and  you  will  find  in  its  dry  stems  and 
shriveled  leaves  the  same  gracious  scent  the  green  plant 
has  in  June.  A  rose  of  last  October  is  a  poor  deflowered 
thing;  but  turn  to  the  ice-bound  garden-walks  where, 
a  month  before,  the  chrysanthemum  stood  in  autumn 
splendor.  The  beautiful  acanthus-like  leaves  and  the 
once  gorgeous  blossoms  hang  in  brown  tatters,  but 
still  they  hold  the  perfume  of  lavender  and  camphor, 
and  from  autumn  to  spring  the  plant  stands  embalmed 

15 


THE    LAND    OF    LONG    AGO 

in  its  own  sweetness,  like  the  body  of  a  mummied 
Pharaoh  wrapped  in  precious  gums  and  spices.  I 
know  that  the  flowers  called  scentless  have  their  hours 
when  the  spirit  of  perfume  visits  them  and  lends  them, 
for  a  brief  season,  the  charm  without  which  a  flower  is 
only  hah*  a  flower.  I  have  found  the  fragrance  of  ripe 
cherries  in  the  wood  of  the  cherry  parted  a  lifetime 
from  the  parent  tree.  I  have  marveled  over  the  alchemy 
that  gives  to  the  bitter  shriveled  fruit  of  the  wild  crab- 
apple  tree  a  fragrance  as  sweet  as  its  blossom.  The 
heart  of  a  child  beats  in  me  at  the  scent  of  a  green 
walnut  or  a  handful  of  fresh  hickory  leaves;  and  I 
have  cried  out  for  words  to  express  what  I  feel  when 
the  incense  of  the  wild  grape  blossom  rises  from  the 
woodland  altars  of  late  spring,  and  I  stand,  a  lonely 
worshiper,  at  a  shrine  deserted  "  since  the  old  Hellenic 
days."  But  what  was  that  breath  coming  across  the 
meadows  on  the  sun-warmed  air  ?  Was  it  a  lost  breeze 
from  the  Indian  Ocean,  caught  in  some  gulf-stream  of 
the  air  and  drifted  down  into  the  wind-currents  that 
blow  across  Kentucky  fields  in  May  ? 

"  Strawberries,  strawberries,  child,"  said  Aunt  Jane. 
"  Didn't  you  ever  smell  strawberries  when  the  evenin' 
sun's  shinin'  on  'em  and  ripenin'  'em,  and  the  wind's 

16 


A    RIDE    TO    TOWN 

blowin'  over  'em  like  it's  blowin'  now?  There's  a 
ten-acre  patch  o'  strawberries  jest  across  that  med- 
der." 

It  was  impossible  to  go  on  while  that  perfume  came 
and  went  like  a  far-off,  exquisite  voice,  and  even  Aunt 
Jane  forgot  her  hurry  to  get  to  town,  as  we  sat  with 
our  faces  eagerly  turned  toward  the  unseen  field  of 
strawberries. 

"  I've  heard  folks  say,"  said  Aunt  Jane,  "  that 
Kentucky  is  the  natural  home  o'  the  strawberry,  and 
I  reckon  it's  so,  for  I  ricollect  how,  when  I  was  a  child, 
the  strawberries  grew  wild  in  the  pastures,  and  the 
cows'd  come  home  at  night  with  their  hoofs  dyed  red 
with  the  juice  o'  the  berries  they'd  been  treadin'  on 
all  day.  Parson  Page  used  to  say  there  was  some 
things  that  showed  the  goodness  of  the  Lord,  and  some 
things,  such  as  strawberries  and  grapes  and  apples 
and  peaches,  that  showed  the  exceeding  great  goodness 
of  the  Lord.  He'd  never  eat  a  strawberry  without 
first  holdin'  it  up  and  lookin'  at  it  and  smellin'  it,  and 
he'd  say: 

"  *  Now  wouldn't  you  think  it  was  enough  to  have 
a  strawberry  tastin*  like  it  does?  But  here  it  is,  the 
prettiest  color  in  the  world,  pretty  as  any  rose,  and, 

17 


THE    LAND    OF    LONG    AGO 

besides   that,   smellin'   like  the   sweetest  flower  that 
grows.' ' 

"  What  is  the  sweetest  flower  that  grows  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Don't  ask  me  such  a  question  as  that,"  said  Aunt 
Jane  with  emphasis.  "  Every  one's  the  sweetest  while 
I'm  smellin'  it.  But  when  Parson  Page  talked  about 
the  sweetest  flower,  he  meant  the  calycanthus.  There's 
mighty  little  difference  between  smellin'  a  bowl  o' 
strawberries  and  a  handful  o'  calycanthuses.  Yes, 
the  world's  full  o'  sweet  things,  child,  and  you  don't 
have  to  look  in  gyardens  to  find  'em,  either.  They're 
scattered  around  everywhere  and  free  for  everybody. 
Jest  look  yonder  in  that  old  fence  corner.  There's 
catnip  and  hoarhound  and  horsemint  and  pennyroy'l, 
and  pretty  soon  there'll  be  wild  life-everlastin'.  Yes, 
it's  a  mighty  sweet  world.  I'm  glad  I've  lived  in  it 
this  long,  and  heaven'll  have  to  be  somethin'  mighty 
fine  if  it's  any  better'n  this  old  earth.  Now  hurry  up, 
child,  or  we  won't  have  time  to  see  the  town  sights 
before  dark  comes." 

Within  a  mile  of  town  I  noticed  a  house  barely 
visible  at  the  end  of  an  avenue  so  long  that  it  made 
me  think  of  the  "  lane  that  knows  no  turning." 

"  What  house  is  that  ?  "  I  asked. 
18 


A    RIDE    TO    TOWN 

Aunt  Jane's  eyes  twinkled.  "  That's  the  house 
that  was  a  weddin'  fee,"  she  said  mysteriously. 

"  A  wedding  fee  ?  "  I  echoed  doubtfully. 

"  A  weddin'  fee,"  repeated  Aunt  Jane.  "  But  don't 
ask  me  any  questions  about  it  now,  for  there  ain't 
time  to  tell  it  before  we  git  to  town." 

"  But  you'll  tell  it  on  the  way  back  ?  "  I  urged 
eagerly. 

"  Yes,  child,  yes.  But  hurry  up  now.  I  don't 
believe  you  care  whether  we  git  to  town  or  not." 

I  shook  the  lines  over  Nelly's  back,  tapped  her 
gently  with  the  whip,  and  on  we  went.  Aunt  Jane 
was  impatient  to  get  to  town,  but  I  —  I  wished  for  a 
longer  road,  a  slower  steed,  and  a  Joshua  to  command 
the  afternoon  sun  to  stand  still  a  while  in  the  heavens. 
For  it  was  the  last  day  of  May.  Time  stood  reluctant 
on  the  border  line  between  spring  and  summer,  and  in 
every  bird-song  and  every  whisper  of  the  wind  I  seemed 
to  hear, 

"  Farewell,  farewell,  to  another  spring!  " 

"  You  see  that  pretty  farm  yonder  ?  "  said  Aunt 
Jane,  pointing  to  the  left.  "  Fields  as  level  as  a  parlor 
floor  and  soil  like  a  river-bottom  ?  That  farm  belonged 
to  Henry  Amos,  Sam  Amos's  youngest  brother.  Henry 

19 


THE    LAND    OF    LONG    AGO 

got  the  gold-fever  back  in  '49,  him  and  a  lot  of  other 
young  fellers,  and  nothin'  would  do  but  he  must  go  to 
California.  And  here's  Henry's  farm,  but  where  Henry 
is  nobody  knows.  Every  time  I  see  the  yeller  wheat 
standin'  in  these  fields,  I  think  of  how  Henry's  grand 
father  begged  him  not  to  go.  Henry  was  his  favorite 
grandchild,  and  it  broke  the  old  man's  heart  to  see  him 
leave.  He  took  hold  o'  Henry's  hand  and  led  him 
to  the  front  door  and  says  he, 

'  '  Son,  do  you  think  the  Lord  was  so  forgetful  of 
his  children  as  to  put  all  the  gold  in  the  world  out 
yonder  in  California  ?  '  Says  he,  '  That  potato-patch 
over  there  is  a  gold-mine,  and  there's  a  gold-mine  in 
that  wheat-field,  and  another  one  in  the  corn-field. 
And  if  you'll  go  down  in  the  orchard  and  gether  a 
load  o'  them  pippin  apples  and  a  few  punkins,  and  haul 
'em  to  town  and  sell  'em,  you'll  find  there's  some  gold 
in  them.'  Says  he,  '  The  whole  earth's  a  gold-mine, 
if  men  jest  have  the  patience  to  dig  it  out.'  But  Henry 
would  go,  and  I  reckon  he  couldn't  help  it,  poor  boy! 
Some  folks  are  born  to  stay  at  home,  and  some  are  born 
with  the  wanderin'  fever  in  their  bones." 

I  looked  at  the  fertile  fields  that  were  the  dead  man's 
heritage,  and  read  again  the  old  story  of  restless  human 

20 


A    RIDE    TO    TOWN 

ambition  that  loses  the  near  and  the  familiar  by  grasp 
ing  at  the  far-off  and  unknown. 

We  were  nearing  the  town  limits  now.  Instead  of 
the  infrequent  farmhouses,  we  were  passing  rows  of 
pretty  suburban  homes.  Now  and  then  a  fine  old  elm 
by  the  roadside,  or  within  some  neat,  flowery  yard, 
spoke  of  the  "  forest  primeval  "  vanishing  before  the 
stealthy  march  of  a  growing  town. 

Aunt  Jane's  face  wore  the  look  of  the  pilgrim  who 
approaches  the  City  Beautiful.  She  loved  the  country, 
and  nature  had  kindly  given  her  the  power  to  love  one 
thing  without  hating  its  antithesis.  But,  apart  from 
Aunt  Jane's  company,  going  to  town  had  no  attraction 
for  me,  to  whom  a  town  is  only  one  of  those  necessary 
evils  whose  sum  total  we  call  civilization.  And  while 
Aunt  Jane  took  delighted  notice  of  the  street-cars, 
the  newly  laid  concrete  walks,  the  sprinkling-cart,  and 
the  automobile  with  its  discordant  warning  voice,  my 
heart  turned  back  regretfully  to  the  narrow  wayside 
path  bordered  by  dusty  weeds  and  watered  only  by 
the  dew  and  rain,  to  the  old  "  dirt  road,"  marked  by 
the  track  of  the  lazy  ox-team  or  the  two-horse  wagon, 
and  hushed  and  bounded  by  the  great  silences  of  field 
and  wood. 

21 


THE    LAND    OF    LONG    AGO 

Aunt  Jane  was  smiling  and  looking  to  right  and  left, 
and  the  children  on  the  street  were  quick  to  respond 
wifh  answering  smiles,  as  the  kind  old  face  beamed  on 
them.  Chauffeurs  and  drivers  of  stylish  carriages 
politely  gave  us  the  road,  and  so  we  jogged  into  the 
little  square,  the  heart  of  the  town.  The  park  was  in  its 
spring  raiment  of  young  leaves  and  grass,  and  the 
waters  of  the  fountain  sparkled  in  the  sunshine. 

"  It's  the  prettiest  little  town  in  the  State,"  said 
Aunt  Jane  proudly. 

"  Where  shall  we  go  first  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  There's  one  place  in  this  town  where  all  us  country 
folks  goes  first,"  said  Aunt  Jane  oracularly,  "  and 
that's  the  old  drug-store  on  the  corner  yonder.  Let 
the  mare  alone,  and  she'll  go  right  there  without 
guidin'." 

And  so  she  did,  stopping  at  a  corner  of  the  square 
before  a  three-story  brick  building  with  none  of  the 
usual  signs  of  a  drug-store  about  it.  Aunt  Jane  stepped 
out  to  make  her  purchases,  and  I  stayed  in  the  buggy 
to  hold  the  horse,  an  unnecessary  precaution,  for  old 
Nelly  at  once  dropped  her  head  in  a  drowsy,  medita 
tive  way  that  showed  she  had  no  intention  of  leaving 
the  familiar  stopping-place. 
\  22 


A    RIDE    TO    TOWN 

I  heard  a  cheery  voice  within  giving  Aunt  Jane  an 
old  friend's  greeting,  and  while  she  made  her  purchases 
and  gossiped  with  the  proprietor  over  the  high,  old- 
fashioned  counter,  I  stared  into  the  dark,  dingy  vista 
of  the  ancient  store.  The  stone  door-step,  hollowed  like 
the  steps  to  the  Blarney  stone,  had  borne  the  steady 
tread  of  feet  for  sixty  years,  and  the  floor  within  was 
worn  in  the  same  way.  At  the  far  end  of  the  store,  I 
discerned  a  group  of  elderly  men.  Some  were  seated 
on  packing-boxes,  conveniently  placed  around  the 
store  for  the  use  of  those  who  desired  to  stay  a  while 
to  rest  and  whittle;  others  reposed  on  the  small  of 
their  backs  in  rickety,  splint-bottomed  chairs  tilted 
against  the  wall,  their  feet  on  the  rounds  of  the  chairs, 
their  knees  on  a  level  with  their  chins,  and  about  them 
an  air  of  profound  repose  that  showed  them  to  be  as 
much  a  part  of  the  store  as  the  old  iron  stove.  The 
window  proclaimed  the  place  the  den  of  an  archaeolo 
gist,  for  it  was  filled  with  arrow-heads  neatly  mounted 
on  pasteboard,  Indian  pottery,  petrifactions,  stone 
hammers,  tomahawks,  relics  of  aboriginal  and  pre 
historic  man  that  the  mounds  and  caves  of  Kentucky 
yield  up  to  the  seeker  of  such  buried  treasure.  Both 
within  and  without,  the  old  store  was  like  an  embodi- 

23 


THE    LAND    OF    LONG    AGO 

inent  of  conservatism  standing  unmoved  while  the 
swift  currents  of  modern  progress  were  sweeping 
around  it  and  beating  against  it. 

While  I  was  gazing  and  wondering,  Aunt  Jane  came 
out.  "  I  reckon  you  think  this  is  a  curious-lookin' 
place,  honey,"  she  said,  as  she  stowed  away  her  pack 
ages  on  the  seat.  "  This  old  store  is  one  o'  the  places 
that  ain't  changed  in  my  memory.  'Stablished  in 
1847,  and  I  don't  reckon  it's  had  a  right  good  cleanin' 
from  that  day  to  this,  but  the  best  of  everything  a  drug 
store  keeps  is  in  them  old  dusty  bottles  and  jars.  It 
does  me  good  to  come  to  town  and  find  one  place 
lookin'  jest  like  it  did  when  me  and  Abram  used  to 
come  on  county-court  days  and  circus  days.  And 
there's  the  old  men  sittin'  around  that  stove.  They've 
been  there  for  the  last  twenty-five  years,  and  they'll  be 
there  till  death  comes  along  and  picks  'em  up  and 
carries  'em  away.  And  now,  child,  give  me  the  lines. 
I'm  goin'  to  drive  around  a  little  while,  and  then  we'll 
go  home." 

She  took  the  lines  and  began  what  seemed  to  me  an 
aimless  ramble  through  the  streets  of  the  town.  She 
grew  strangely  silent,  and  that  look  on  her  face  —  was 
it  sadness  or  only  joy  in  retrospect  ?  I  began  to  see  the 

24 


A    RIDE    TO    TOWN 

meaning  of  our  ride  to  town.  The  garden-seed  and 
other  purchases  were  but  a  vain  pretext.  In  reality,  she 
had  come  to  keep  a  tryst  witlrthe  past.  Now  and  then 
she  remembered  my  presence,  and  would  point  to  some 
place  that  was  a  link  between  to-day  and  yesterday. 
Here  was  the  place  in  which  General  Buckner  had  made 
his  headquarters  during  the  Civil  War;  in  that  house 
Charles  Sumner  was  once  a  guest;  on  yonder  height 
stood  a  Confederate  fortification,  and  on  a  similar 
elevation  on  the  opposite  side  of  town  was  another  fort 
erected  by  a  Federal  commander,  afterward  a  president; 
and  —  wondrous  miracle !  —  the  angel  of  peace  had 
turned  the  old  fort  into  a  garden.  As  Aunt  Jane  spoke, 
the  light  of  other  days  shone  for  me,  too,  and  in  its 
radiance  the  commonplace  faded  out  of  sight. 

We  traveled  in  a  circle,  and  our  ride  ended  where  it 
had  begun.  As  we  paused  at  the  drinking-fountain 
to  let  old  Nelly  quench  her  thirst,  Aunt  Jane  leaned 
out  of  the  buggy  and  looked  wistfully  up  and  down 
the  square.  I  knew  what  was  in  her  heart.  She  was 
thinking  that,  perhaps,  this  was  the  last  time  she  would 
see  the  town. 

"  It's  a  curious  thing,  child,"  she  said  finally,  "  that 
while  folks  are  growin'  old,  the  towns  they  live  in  are 

25 


THE    LAND    OF    LONG    AGO 

growin'  young.  The  town  I  ricollect  when  I  was  a 
young  gyirl  is  the  old  town,  and  now,  when  I'm  old, 
the  town's  young,  and  growin'  younger  and  newer 
every  day.  Ain't  it  a  pity  folks  can't  grow  young  in 
stead  of  growin'  old  ?  "  She  paused,  and  I  felt  the 
distance  of  a  lifetime  growing  up  between  us. 

Presently  she  came  out  of  her  reverie,  smiling 
brightly.  "  We're  lookin'  at  the  same  things,  honey," 
she  said,  "  but  you  see  jest  one  thing,  and  I'm  seein' 
double  all  the  time.  You  see  this  square  with  the  park 
in  the  middle  and  the  fine  four-  and  five-story  buildin's 
all  around  it,  and  I  see  it,  too ;  but  back  of  it  I  can  see 
the  old  square  with  the  court-house  in  the  middle  of 
it  and  the  scraggly  locust-trees  growin'  around  it  and 
the  market-house  back  of  it.  That  market-house  wasn't 
much  to  look  at,  but  the  meat  they  sold  there  was  the 
sort  a  king  can't  git  nowadays.  And  there  was  the 
clerk's  office  in  front  of  the  court-house,  and  the 
county  clerk  used  to  stand  on  the  door-step  and  call 
out  the  names  of  the  witnesses  that  was  wanted  when 
they  was  tryin'  a  case  in  court.  I  can  see  him  now, 
holdin'  up  a  piece  o'  paper  to  read  the  names  off,  and 
the  sun  shinin'  on  his  gray  head.  And  that  three- 
story  hotel  over  yonder  on  the  corner  —  that  used  to  be 

26 


ii 


A    RIDE    TO    TOWN 

the  old  tavern  in  the  days  when  there  wasn't  any  rail 
road,  and  the  stage'd  come  rurnblin'  up,  and  every 
body 'd  come  runnin'  to  then*  front  doors  to  see  who 
the  passengers  was. 

"  The  town  was  so  quiet  in  them  days,  child,  that 
you  could  lay  down  in  the  court-house  yard  and  go  to 
sleep,  and  so  little  that  if  you  put  your  head  out  o'  the 
winder  and  hollered  for  John  Smith,  you'd  be  pretty 
certain  to  git  John  Smith.  If  he  didn't  hear  you,  some 
of  his  neighbors  would,  and  they'd  hunt  him  up  for 
you.  Things  wasn't  as  well  kept  then  as  they  are  now. 
I  ricollect  the  jimson-weeds  growin'  in  the  court-house 
yard,  and  one  year  the  dog-fennel  was  so  plentiful 
that  Uncle  Jim  Matthews  says  to  me,  says  he, '  It  looks 
to  me  like  the  Smiths  and  the  Joneses  and  the  dog- 
fennel  are  about  to  take  the  town.'  ' 

She  laughed  gaily  and  handed  the  reins  to  me. 
"  And  now,  child,  we've  got  to  make  tracks  for  home, 
unless  we  want  to  be  out  after  sundown." 

As  we  passed  out  of  the  square,  our  faces  turned 
homeward,  I  noticed  an  old  Gothic  church  on  the 
corner  of  the  street  leading  to  the  court-house. 

'  There's  another  thing  that  ain't  changed  much," 
said  Aunt  Jane,  with  great  satisfaction  in  her  voice. 

27 


THE    LAND    OF    LONG    AGO 

"  The  inside 's  all  new,  and  there's  a  new  congrega 
tion,  for  all  the  old  congregation's  lyin'  out  in  the  new 
cemetery  or  the  old  graveyard.  But  there's  the  same 
walls  standin'  and  lookin'  jest  like  they  did  when  I 
used  to  come  to  town  with  father  and  mother.  Makes 
me  think  of  a  body  with  a  new  soul  in  it.  Wonder  if 
the  old  bell's  still  up  yonder  in  the  steeple. 

"  Speakin'  o'  that  bell  reminds  me  o'  Martin  Luther 
Wilson  and  the  time  he  kept  it  from  ringin'.  Now,  wait 
till  we 're  fairly  outside  o'town,  and  I'll  tell  you  about  it." 

When  all  signs  of  town  were  fully  half  a  mile  be 
hind  us  the  story  began. 

"  That  church  you  saw  back  yonder,  honey,"  she 
said,  "  was  built  when  the  Rev.  Samuel  Wilson  was 
the  pastor,  and  as  soon  as  it  was  done  and  the  bell 
put  up  in  the  belfry,  Brother  Wilson  said  that  bell  had 
to  ring  every  Saturday  mornin'  to  call  the  children  of 
the  congregation  together  in  the  basement  o'  the  church 
to  receive  religious  instruction.  He'd  been  visitin' 
amongst  the  church-members,  and  he'd  found  out  that 
some  o'  the  children  didn't  know  the  Ten  Command 
ments  or  the  Shorter  Catechism  or  the  Lord's  Prayer, 
and  when  he  asked  one  child  what  a  foreign  missionary 
was,  the  little  thing  thought  a  minute  and  says  she, 

28 


A  RIDE  TO  TOWN 

'  Why,  it's  a  rabbit,  ain't  it  ?  '  Well,  of  course  Brother 
Wilson  was  clean  scandalized,  and  says  he,  *  Such  a 
state  of  things  is  a  disgrace  to  a  civilized  community. 
And,'  says  he,  *  if  the  parents  of  the  church  haven't 
got  time  to  instruct  their  children,  I'll  do  it  myself,  for 
it's  part  of  my  pastoral  duty  to  feed  the  lambs  of  this 
flock  as  well  as  the  sheep.' 

"  Well,  of  course  the  parents  had  no  objection  to 
havin'  the  children  taught.  I  ricollect  old  Mis'  Zerilda 
Moore  said  that  if  Brother  Wilson  could  teach  her  boy 
Joe  to  say  the  Ten  Commandments,  he  was  welcome 
to  the  job,  for  all  her  time  was  taken  up  try  in'  to  git 
Joe  to  keep  a  few  of  'em.  The  little  gyirls  didn't 
mind  goin'  to  Saturday-mornin'  Sunday  School,  as 
they  called  it,  but  the  boys  objected  mightily,  especially 
Brother  Wilson's  boys,  Martin  Luther  and  John  Calvin. 
And  Martin  Luther  says,  says  he,  *  It  ain't  fair  to  take 
a  lamb's  play-time  away  from  it  to  feed  it  on  such 
fodder  as  that  Shorter  Catechism.'  Says  he,  '  Any 
healthy  lamb  can  stand  the  Ten  Commandments  and 
the  Lord's  Prayer;  I  can  say  'em  frontwards  and  back 
wards  myself,  but,'  says  he,  '  when  it  comes  to  the 
catechism,  there'll  be  some  lambs  missin'  from  this 
flock  when  Saturday  mornin'  comes.' 

29 


THE   LAND   OF   LONG   AGO 

"  Well,  one  mornin'  not  long  after  this,  the  old 
sexton  went  to  ring  the  bell  for  the  children  to  come 
to  the  church,  and  he  pulled  the  rope  and  pulled  the 
rope  and  couldn't  make  a  sound;  and  while  he  was 
standin'  lookin'  up  in  the  belfry  and  pullin'  and  won- 
derin',  here  come  Brother  Wilson  wantin'  to  know  why 
that  bell  hadn't  been  rung.  Brother  Wilson  was  a  man 
that  was  always  on  time  himself,  and  he  hadn't  any 
patience  with  folks  that  wasn't. 

"  And  old  Uncle  Gloster  says,  '  Boss,  I'm  doin'  my 
best,  but  it  looks  like  somebody's  done  hoodooed  this 
bell.'  Says  he,  '  I'm  jest  gittin'  over  a  spell  o'  rheu 
matism,  and  my  old  j'ints  won't  stand  a  climb  up  that 
ladder,  and  you'll  have  to  git  somebody  that's  young 
and  spry  to  go  up  and  see  what's  the  matter.' 

'*  Well,  Brother  Wilson  started  off  to  find  somebody 
who  could  climb  the  ladder,  and  as  soon  as  he  got 
outside  the  church,  he  met  Judge  Grace  and  old  Doctor 
Brigham,  both  of  'em  members  of  the  church,  and  he 
told  'em  about  the  trouble  with  the  bell,  and  they  went 
in  to  see  what  they  could  do.  By  the  time  Brother 
Wilson  had  walked  around  the  square,  everybody  in 
town  knew  that  the  Presbyterian  bell  wouldn't  ring, 
and  all  the  folks  come  flockin'  to  the  church;  but  no- 

30 


A  RIDE  TO   TOWN 

body  wanted  to  risk  their  neck  goin'  up  the  old  rickety 
ladder.  While  they  was  all  standin'  there  stretchin' 
their  necks  and  reckonin'  about  what  was  the  matter, 
here  come  John  Calvin,  and  says  he,  '  Gimme  fifty 
cents,  and  I'll  go  up  the  ladder.' 

"  And  Brother  Wilson  says,  '  No  child  o'  mine  shall 
be  hired  to  do  his  duty.'  Says  he,  '  John  Calvin,  if 
that  ladder  was  a  green-apple  tree,  you'd  be  at  the  top 
of  it  in  less  than  half  a  minute.  Go  up,  sir,  this  in 
stant,  and  find  out  what's  the  matter  with  that  bell.' 

"  But  Judge  Grace  and  Doctor  Brigham  and  the 
rest  o'  the  men  said  they'd  throw  in  and  make  up  the 
fifty  cents,  and  John  Calvin  put  the  money  in  his 
pocket  and  went  up  the  ladder.  As  soon  as  he  got 
to  the  top  round  he  hollered  down  and  says  he: 

"  '  No  wonder  the  bell  won't  ring.  Here's  a  yarn 
sock  tied  around  the  clapper.'  And  down  he  come 
with  the  sock  in  his  hand,  and  handed  it  to  his  father. 
It  turned  out  afterwards  that  him  and  Martin  Luther 
had  had  a  fallin'  out  that  mornin',  and  he  went  up  and 
got  the  sock  jest  to  git  even  with  his  brother. 

"  Well,  while  they  was  passin'  the  sock  around  and 
speculatin'  about  it,  old  Mis'  Maria  Morris  come  along 
with  her  bag  o'  knittin'  on  her  arm,  goin'  to  spend  the 

31 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

day  with  some  of  her  friends.  She  stopped  to  see  what 
was  the  matter,  and  when  they  told  her  she  says,  '  Let 
me  look  at  the  sock,'  and  she  took  it  and  looked  at  it 
right  close  and  says  she,  '  That's  Martin  Luther 
Wilson's  sock,'  says  she.  *  I  spent  the  day  with  Mis' 
Wilson  three  or  four  weeks  ago,  and  I  saw  her  round 
off  the  toe  of  this  very  sock.' 

"  Well,  of  course,  Brother  Wilson  started  off  to  look 
for  Martin  Luther,  and  as  soon  as  he  was  out  o'  hearin', 
Judge  Grace  brought  his  cane  down  on  the  pavement, 
and  says  he,  '  I  hate  to  say  such  a  thing  of  my  own 
pastor's  son,  but  they  named  that  boy  after  the  wrong 
man  when  they  named  him  Martin  Luther,'  says  he. 
'  They  ought  to  'a'  named  him  Beelzebub.  That's  one 
good  old  Bible  name,'  says  he, '  that'll  fit  a  preacher's 
son  nine  times  out  of  ten.' 

"  Brother  Wilson  went  all  around  the  square  in- 
quirin'  for  Martin  Luther,  and  found  out  that  Martin 
and  the  rest  o'  the  boys  had  been  seen  goin'  towards 
the  river,  all  of  'em  bleatin'  like  young  lambs  callin' 
for  then-  mothers.  So  he  come  back  to  the  church,  and 
says  he  to  Judge  Grace,  *  What  mortifies  me  most 
in  this  matter  is  that  a  boy  of  mine  should  have  so 
little  sense  as  to  tie  his  own  sock  on  the  bell.  It  was 

32 


A  RIDE  TO   TOWN 

the  act  of  a  fool,'  says  he,  *  and  I  shall  see  that  it  is 
properly  punished.' 

"  So  when  Martin  Luther  got  home  late  that  evenin', 
his  mother  was  standin'  on  the  front  door-step  waitin' 
for  him,  and  she  took  him  by  the  hand  and  led  him  into 
his  father's  study.  And  Brother  Wilson  held  up  the 
sock,  and  says  he,  '  My  son,  can  you  tell  me  how  this 
came  to  be  tied  on  the  clapper  of  the  church  bell  ?  ' 
And  Martin  Luther  says,  as  prompt  as  you  please, 
'  Yes,  sir;  I  tied  it  on  myself.'  Martin's  mother  said 
Brother  Wilson  looked  mighty  pleased  at  that.  And 
then  he  says,  '  Well,  didn't  you  know  you'd  be  found 
out  if  you  tied  your  own  sock  on  ?  '  And  Martin 
Luther  says,  '  Yes,  but  I  had  to  take  my  chances  on 
that,  for  if  I'd  gone  home  to  git  a  rag  or  anything  like 
that,  Uncle  Gloster  might  'a'  had  the  church  locked 
up  before  I  could  git  back.'  Mis'  Wilson  used  to  say 
that  Brother  Wilson  laughed  like  he'd  heard  good  news 
when  Martin  Luther  said  that,  and  says  he,  '  Well, 
I'm  glad  to  know  you  are  neither  a  liar  nor  a  fool,  but, 
all  the  same,  I  shall  have  to  correct  you  severely  for 
this  offense.' 

"  Brother  Wilson  believed  in  Solomon's  plan  for 
raisin'  children,  and  in  them  days  preachers  didn't 

33 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

try  to  explain  away  the  meanin'  of  a  Bible  text  like 
they  do  now.  So  he  give  Martin  Luther  a  good  old- 
fashioned  whippin',  and  then  he  called  for  John  Calvin, 
and  says  he,  '  I  know  you  were  as  deep  in  the  mud  as 
your  brother  was  in  the  mire,  and  I  understand  now 
why  you  were  so  anxious  to  climb  the  ladder  and  see 
what  was  the  matter  with  the  bell:  you  only  wanted 
to  get  your  brother  into  trouble,  so  I  shall  give  you  a 
double  punishment.' 

"  And  besides  the  whippin',  Martin  Luther  said 
they  made  him  and  John  Calvin  learn  pretty  near  all 
the  psalms.  That's  the  way  children  was  dealt  with 
in  old  times.  Martin  Luther  used  to  say,  '  Boys,  if  I 
got  all  this  for  tyin'  one  sock  on  that  old  bell-clapper, 
what  would  it  'a'  been  if  I'd  tied  a  pah*  o'  socks  on  it  ?  ' 

The  old  farmhouse  was  in  sight,  and  Nelly's  brisk 
gait  showed  what  she  could  do  if  she  would.  Such  in 
spiration  is  the  thought  of  home,  even  to  dumb 
animals.  Suddenly  I  drew  rein  and  assumed  a  look 
of  deep  dismay. 

"  Aunt  Jane,"  I  cried,  "  we  fcave  forgotten  some 
thing." 

"  La,  child,  you  don't  say  so,"  said  Aunt  Jane,  turn 
ing  over  the  parcels  in  her  lap  and  hurriedly  counting 

34 


A   RIDE  TO   TOWN 

them.  "  Why,  no  we  ain't.  Here's  the  soda  and  the 
cream  o'  tartar  and  the  gyarden  seed  all  right." 

"  But  you  forgot  to  tell  me  the  story  of  the  house  that 
was  a  wedding  fee,"  said  I  with  dramatic  solemnity. 

"  Now  did  anybody  ever!  "  laughed  Aunt  Jane. 
"  Skeerin'  me  to  death  about  a  old  yarn  like  that! 
Well,  honey,  that  story's  sixty  years  old  already,  and 
I  reckon  it'll  keep  a  little  longer  yet.  Some  o'  these 
days  I'll  tell  you  the  story  of  that  old  house.  I  reckon 
I  owe  you  another  story  for  takin'  me  to  town  and 
bringin'  me  home  so  nice.  I'm  mighty  glad  I've  seen 
the  old  place  once  more,  for  the  next  time  I  go  to  town 
maybe  I'll  go  in  the  direction  of  the  New  Jerusalem." 

After  Nelly  had  been  unharnessed  and  fed,  I  sat 
down  on  the  porch  to  watch  the  passing  of  day.  Ah! 
surely  it  is  worth  while  to  go  to  town  now  and  then  just 
for  the  pleasure  of  getting  back  to  the  country,  to  its 
purer  air,  its  solitude,  its  blessed  stillness.  I  lifted  up 
my  eyes  unto  the  hills  and  let  the  sunset  and  the 
twilight  hold  me  in  their  spells  till  Aunt  Jane's  voice 
called  me  in  with  a  warning  of  the  danger  that  lurks 
in  falling  dew;  and  when  I  closed  my  eyes  in  sleep  that 
night,  my  brain  was  a  panorama-  of  strange  scenes. 
Past  and  present  were  mingled,  as  a  picture  painted 

35 


THE   LAND    OF   LONG   AGO 

within  a  picture,  for,  through  Aunt  Jane's  eyes,  I,  too, 
had  seen  double.  I  had  gone  to  town  over  the  old  'pike, 
but  I  had  also  traveled  the  road  of  dead  years,  and 
it  had  led  me  into  the  Land  of  Long  Ago. 


II 


,,,,  ..  Urtf 44 


II 


THE    HOUSE    THAT    WAS    A    WEDDING    FEE 

rwas   September,  the   sad   month  of    the    year 
>efore  I  heard  the  promised  story  of  the  house 
that  was  a  wedding  fee;  for  it  was  Aunt  Jane's  whim 
that,  as  a  dramatic  sequence,  a  visit  to  the  house  should 
follow  the  telling  of  the  tale,  and  it  was  hard  to  find  a 
convenient   time  for  the  happening  of  both   events. 
Meanwhile,  I  was  tantalized  by  the  memory  of  that 
39 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG   AGO 

half-seen  house  at  the  end  of  the  long  avenue,  and 
again  and  again  I  tried  by  adroit  questions  to  draw 
from  Aunt  Jane  the  story  about  which  my  imagination 
hovered  like  a  bee  about  a  flower. 

"  Well,"  she  finally  remarked  with  smiling  resigna 
tion,  "  I  see  there  ain't  any  peace  for  me  till  that  story's 
told.  Ain't  that  Johnny  Amos  goin'  by  on  horseback  ? 
Holler  to  him,  child,  and  ask  him  to  stop  here  on  his 
way  back  and  hitch  old  Nelly  to  the  buggy  for  me. 
Tell  him  I'll  dance  at  his  weddin'  if  he'll  do  that  favor 
for  me. 

"  And  now,  while  we're  waitin'  for  Johnny  to  come, 
I'll  tell  all  I  can  ricollect  about  that  old  house.  Fetch 
my  basket  o'  cyarpet-rags,  and  we'll  sit  out  here  on  the 
porch.  Here's  a  needle  for  you,  too,  child.  If  I  can 
sew  and  talk  at  the  same  time,  I  reckon  you  can  sew  and 
listen.  Jest  mix  your  colors  any  way  you  please.  I 
never  made  a  cyarpet  except  the  hit-or-miss  kind." 

I  took  my  needle  and  began  to  sew,  first  a  black, 
then  a  red,  then  a  blue  strip,  but  Aunt  Jane  showed  no 
haste  to  begin  her  story. 

"  Goin'  back  sixty  years,"  she  remarked  medita 
tively,  "  is  like  goin'  up  and  rummagin'  around  in  a 
garret.  You  don't  know  what  you'll  lay  your  hands 

40 


HOUSE   THAT   WAS  A   WEDDING   FEE 

on  in  the  dark,  and  you  can't  be  certain  of  findin'  what  \ 
you  went  after.  I'm  tryinT~to~tfamk  whereabouts-I'd^" 
better  begin  so  as  to  git  to  that  old  house  the  quickest." 

"  No,  Aunt  Jane,  please  take  the  long,  roundabout 
way,"  I  urged. 

"  Well,"  she  laughed,  "  come  to  think  about  it,  it 
don't  make  much  difference  which  way  I  take,  for  if 
I  start  on  the  short  road,  it'll  be  roundabout  before  I 
git  through  with  it.  You  know  my  failin',  child.  Well, 
I  reckon  the  old  church  is  as  good  a  startin '-place  as 
any.  You  ricollect  me  p'intin'  it  out  to  you  the  day  we 
went  to  town,  and  tellin'  you  about  Martin  Luther  and 
the  bell.  That  buildin'  was  put  up  when  Brother 
Wilson  was  pastor  of  the  Presbyterian  church.  Before 
his  time  they'd  been  without  a  preacher  for  a  good  while, 
and  things  was  in  a  run-down  and  gone-to-seed  sort 
o'  condition  when  he  come  up  from  Tennessee  to 
take  the  charge. 

"  Brother  Wilson's  father  and  mother  was  Georgia 
people,  and  I  ricollect  one  of  his  brothers  comin' 
through  here  with  all  his  slaves  on  his  way  to  Miz- 
zourah  to  set  'em  free.  The  family  moved  from  Georgia 
to  Tennessee  because  there  was  better  schools  there, 
and  they  wanted  to  educate  their  children.  They  was 

41 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

the  sort  o'  people  that  thought  more  of  books  and 
learnin'  than  they  did  of  money.  But  before  Brother 
Wilson  got  his  schooling  he  took  a  notion  he'd  go 
into  the  army,  and  when  he  wasn't  but  sixteen  or 
seventeen  years  old,  he  was  fightin'  under  Gen.  Andrew 
Jackson,  and  went  through  two  campaigns.  Then  he 
come  home  and  went  to  college,  and  the  next  thing 
he  was  preachin'  the  gospel. 

"  It's  sort  o'  curious  to  think  of  a  man  bein'  a  soldier 
and  a  preacher,  too.  But  then,  you  know,  the  Bible 
talks  about  Christians  jest  like  they  was  soldiers,  and 
the  Christian's  life  jest  like  it  was  a  warfare.  The 
Apostle  tells  us  to  put  on  the  whole  armor  of  God, 
and  when  he  was  ready  to  depart  he  said,  *  I  have 
fought  a  good  fight.'  And  I  used  to  think  that  maybe 
Brother  Wilson  wouldn't  'a'  been  as  good  a  preacher 
as  he  was  if  he  hadn't  first  been  a  good  soldier.  He  used 
to  say,  '  I  come  of  fighting  stock  and  preaching  stock, 
and  the  fighting  blood  in  me  had  to  have  its  day.' 
The  preachin'  blood  didn't  seem  to  come  out  in  Martin 
Luther  and  John  Calvin,  but  the  fightin'  blood  was  there 
mighty  strong.  Folks  used  to  say  that  one  or  the  other 
of  'em  had  a  fight  every  day  in  the  week,  and  if  they 
couldn't  git  up  a  fight  with  some  other  boy,  they'd 

42 


HOUSE   THAT   WAS  A   WEDDING   FEE 

fight  with  each  other.  The  druggist  said  that  after 
Brother  Wilson  come,  he  sold  as  much  court-plaster 
and  arnica  in  a  month  as  he  used  to  sell  in  six  months, 
and  Mis'  Zerilda  Moore  used  to  declare  she  never  had 
seen  Martin  Luther  but  once  when  .his  eyes  and  nose 
was  the  natural  shape  and  color.  Some  of  the  church- 
members  was  scandalized  at  havin'  their  preacher's 
sons  set  such  a  bad  example  to  the  rest  o'  the  town 
boys,  and  they  went  to  Brother  WTilson  to  talk  to  him 
about  it.  But  he  jest  laughed  and  says  he,  *  There's  no 
commandment  that  says,  "  Thou  shalt  not  fight,"  and 
I  can't  whip  my  boys  for  having  the  spirit  of  their 
forefathers  on  both  sides  of  the  house.'  Says  he, 
'  Their  great-grandfather  on  their  mother's  side  was 
a  fighting  parson  in  Revolutionary  times.  He  was  in 
his  pulpit  one  Sunday  morning  when  news  was  brought 
that  the  British  were  coming,  and  he  stepped  down 
out  of  his  pulpit  and  organized  a  company  from  the 
men  of  his  congregation,  and  marched  out  and  whipped 
the  British;  and  then  he  went  back  to  the  church  and 
finished  his  sermon.'  Says  he,  '  My  boys  can't  help 
fighting  like  their  mother's  grandfather  any  more  than 
they  can  help  having  their  mother's  eyes  and  hair.' 
"  Now  here  I  am  talkin'  about  Martin  Luther 
43 


THE   LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

Wilson's  great-grandfather  when  I  started  out  to  tell 
you  about  the  old  church.  Le's  see  if  I  can't  git  back 
to  the  straight  road  and  keep  on  it  the  rest  of  the 
way. 

"  When  Brother  Wilson  first  come,  the  Presbyterian 
church  was  in  the  old  graveyard  in  the  lower  part  o' 
town.  Maybe  you  ricollect  seein'  it  the  day  we  went  to 
town.  Mighty  dismal-lookin'  place,  all  grown  up  in 
weeds  and  underbrush.  And  he  took  a  look  at  it  and 
saw  jest  how  things  was,  and  says  he,  *  You've  got  your 
church  in  the  right  place.  A  dead  church,'  says  he, 
'  ought  to  be  in  a  graveyard.  But,'  says  he,  '  when 
the  spirit  of  the  Lord  breathes  over  this  valley  of  dry 
bones,  I  expect  to  see  the  dead  arise,  and  we'll  build 
a  house  of  the  Lord  amongst  the  habitations  of  the 
living.'  And  bless  your  life,  he  went  to  work  and  got 
up  a  revival  that  lasted  three  months,  and  spread  to  all 
the  churches  —  the  Babtist  and  the  Methodist  and  the 
Christian  —  till  every  sinner  in  town  was  either  con 
verted  or  at  the  mourners'  bench.  And  before  it  was 
over  in  town,  it  started  in  the  country  churches  and  kept 
up  till  Sam  Amos  said  it  looked  to  him  like  the  preachers 
would  have  to  go  out  o'  business  for  a  while  or  move  to 
some  other  place,  for  there  wasn't  any  material  in  the 

44 


HOUSE   THAT    WAS   A   WEDDING   FEE 

county  for  'em  to  work  on.  Mother  used  to  say  it  was 
pretty  near  equal  to  the  big  revival  they  had  'way  back 
yonder  in  1830.  She  said  every  seat  in  a  church  then 
was  a  mourners'  bench,  and  such  shoutin'  and  singin' 
and  prayin'  never  was  heard  before  or  since.  Some  o' 
the  converts  would  fall  in  trances,  and  you  couldn't 
tell  whether  they  was  dead  or  alive.  Uncle  Jim 
Matthews 's  father,  Job  Matthews,  stayed  in  a  trance 
for  two  days  and  nights,  and  mother  said  he  never 
seemed  like  the  same  man  after  that.  He  never  could 
tell  what  he'd  seen  when  he  was  in  the  trance,  and 
when  folks'd  question  him  about  it,  a  sort  of  a  wild 
look'd  come  into  the  old  man's  eyes  and  he'd  say, '  I've 
seen  things  of  which  it  is  not  lawful  for  me  to  speak.' 
He  didn't  take  any  more  interest  in  his  farmin'  or  the 
family  affairs,  and  when  his  wife'd  try  to  stir  him  up 
and  persuade  him  to  work  like  he'd  been  used  to  workin', 
he'd  say :  *  The  things  of  this  world  are  temporal, 
but  the  things  of  the  other  world  are  eternal.  The 
soul  of  man  is  eternal,  and  this  world  can  never  content 
it.  I've  seen  the  abiding-place  o'  the  soul,'  he'd  say, 
'  and  I'm  like  a  homesick  child.'  Mother  said  nobody 
appeared  to  understand  the  old  man,  and  his  wife'd 
be  so  fretted  and  outdone  with  him  that  she'd  say  that 

45 


THE   LAND    OF   LONG   AGO 

if  a  person  went  into  a  trance,  they  might  as  well  stay 
in  it,  for  Job  hadn't  been  any  use  to  the  world  since  he 
come  out  of  his. 

"  Well,  when  the  revival  was  over,  and  all  the  con 
verts  had  been  received  into  the  church,  Brother  Wilson 
called  a  meetin'  o'  the  session  and  says  he,  '  There's 
two  things  to  be  done  now.  We've  got  to  come  up  out 
of  that  old  graveyard,  and  build  a  church  in  town  that'll 
stand  as  a  monument  to  this  generation  of  Presby 
terians  long  after  their  bodies  have  gone  back  to  the 
old  graveyard  and  moldered  into  dust;  and  while 
we're  doing  tfcat,'  says  he,  '  we  must  bring  this  congre 
gation  up  to  the  standards  the  church  has  set  for  its 
members.'  And  he  got  the  session  to  pass  resolutions 
sayin'  that  all  sinful  and  worldly  pleasures  like  cyard- 
playin'  and  horse-racin'  and  dancin'  was  forbidden 
to  church-members,  and  that  the  Sabbath  day  must  be 
kept  holy  and  no  member  of  the  church  could  ride  or 
walk  or  take  a  journey  on  the  Sabbath  unless  it  was  to 
do  some  work  of  necessity  or  mercy.  Says  he,  *  This 
flock  has  been  without  a  shepherd  so  long  that  the  Good 
Shepherd  himself  could  hardly  tell  which  are  the  sheep 
and  which  are  the  goats.  But,'  says  he,  '  the  time  has 
come  when  every  man  has  got  to  take  his  stand  on  the 

46 


HOUSE   THAT    WAS   A   WEDDING   FEE 

right  hand  or  on  the  left,  so  the  world  can  know  what  he 
is.' 

"  Well,  of  course  these  strict  rulin's  went  mighty  hard 
with  some  o'  the  church  people,  for,  havin'  been  without 
a  preacher  so  long,  they'd  got  clean  out  of  their  religious 
ways.  I  ricollect  they  elected  old  Mr.  Joe  Bigsby 
superintendent  of  the  Sunday-school,  and  the  very  first 
Sunday  he  was  examinin'  the  children  to  see  if  their 
parents  had  taught  'em  the  things  they  ought  to  know, 
and  he  called  on  Johnny  West  to  say  the  Lord's  Prayer, 
and  John  was  talkin'  to  the  boy  next  to  him  and  didn't 
hear.  The  old  man  was  mighty  quick-tempered,  and 
he  hollered  out:  'John  West!  You  John!  Confound 
you,  sir!  Stand  up  and  say  the  Lord's  Prayer.'  And 
then  he  ricollected  himself,  and  he  turned  around  to 
Brother  Wilson,  and  says  he,  '  Now,  I  know  that  ain't 
any  way  for  a  Sunday-school  superintendent  to  talk, 
but,'  says  he,  '  jest  give  me  a  little  time,  and  I'll  git  the 
hang  o'  this  superintendent  business.'  Says  he,  *  When 
a  Presbyterian's  been  without  a  church  of  his  own  for 
three  years  and  been  driftin*  around  loose  amongst 
the  Methodists  and  the  Babtists,  you've  got  to  make 
some  allowance  for  him.' 

"  Well,  after  he'd  got  the  Sunday-school  and  the 
47 


THE   LAND    OF  LONG  AGO 

weekly  prayer-meetin'  started,  and  all  the  church-mem 
bers  comin'  regular  to  preachin',  and  everything  runnin' 
smooth,  Brother  Wilson  set  about  havin'  the  church 
built. 

"  The  way  they  build  churches  now,  child,  is  mighty 
different  from  the  way  they  used  to  build  'em.  Now 
nobody  gives  anything  but  money.  It's  money,  money, 
money,  every  which  way  you  turn.  But  in  the  olden 
time  the  way  they  built  a  church  was  like  the  way  the 
Israelites  built  the  tabernacle.  You  ricollect  the  Bible 
says,  *  Every  one  whose  heart  stirred  him  up,  and  every 
one  whom  his  spirit  made  willing,  brought  an  offering 
to  the  Lord.'  The  rich  men  brought  gold  and  silver, 
and  the  rulers  brought  onyx  stones  and  oil  and  incense, 
and  the  poor  men  brought  wood  for  the  tabernacle 
and  goats'  skins  and  rams'  skins,  and  the  women  they 
spun  and  wove  and  made  purple  and  scyarlet  cloth  and 
fine  linen.  There  wasn't  anybody  so  poor  that  he 
couldn't  give  somethin'  if  his  heart  and  his  spirit  was 
willin'.  And  that's  the  way  it  was  when  that  Presby 
terian  church  was  built  in  the  old  time. 

"  The  folks  that  was  called  rich  then  would  be 
called  poor  nowadays,  and  a  man's  riches  wasn't  always 
money.  But  if  one  man  had  a  sand-bank,  he'd  give  sand 

48 


HOUSE   THAT    WAS   A    WEDDING   FEE 

for  the  mortar,  and  if  another  had  good  clay  for  makin' 
bricks,  he'd  give  the  clay,  and  somebody  else  that  owned 
slaves'd  give  the  labor  —  so  many  days'  work  —  and 
there 'd  be  the  bricks  for  the  walls;  and  if  a  church- 
member  was  a  cyarpenter,  he'd  give  so  much  of  his  time 
and  his  work,  jest  like  the  *  wise-hearted  men  '  that 
worked  on  the  tabernacle  and  made  the  curtains  and 
the  cherubims  and  the  sockets  of  silver  and  brass 
and  all  the  rest  of  the  things  that  Moses  commanded 
'em  to  make. 

"  I  reckon  that  old  subscription  paper'd  look  mighty 
strange  nowadays.  I  ricollect  one  of  the  members  said 
he'd  give  fifty  dollars  in  cotton  yarn  at  the  price  it  was 
sellin'  at  in  the  stores;  another  said  he'd  give  a  hundred 
acres  o'  land  in  Monroe  County;  and  another  one  give 
a  hundred  acres  o'  land  'way  up  in  Illinois.  One  o' 
the  elders  said  he'd  give  twenty-five  dollars  in  shingles, 
and  when  he'd  gethered  his  corn  the  next  fall,  he 
promised  to  give  twenty-five  barrels  o'  corn;  another 
elder  paid  fifteen  dollars  in  pork,  and  one  o'  the  deacons 
who  had  a  two-horse  wagon  paid  sixty  dollars  in  haulin'; 
and  the  saddlers  and  the  tailors  paid  their  part  in 
saddlery  and  tailorin'.  It's  many  a  day,  honey,  since 
they  laid  the  corner-stone  o'  that  church,  and  there 

49 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

ain't  a  crack  in  the  walls  yet.  The  only  good  work  is 
the  work  that  love  does,  and  in  them  days  folks  loved 
their  churches  jest  as  they  loved  then-  homes,  and  the 
work  that  went  into  that  church  was  good  work.  I 
ricollect  the  Sunday  they  dedicated  it  the  first  hymn  was, 

" '  I  love  thy  kingdom,  Lord, 
The  house  of  thine  abode, 
The  church  our  blest  Redeemer  saved 
With  his  own  precious  blood.' 

"  Me  and  Abram  was  there,  for  the  country  churches 
and  the  town  churches  was  friendlier  then  than  they 
are  now.  If  the  Goshen  church  was  without  a  preacher 
Brother  Wilson'd  come  out  every  third  Sunday  and 
preach  for  us,  and  if  the  weather  and  the  travelin'  was 
good,  the  Goshen  folks'd  go  to  town  to  preachin*. 

"  Now  here  I  am  tellin'  about  the  dedicatin'  of  the 
church  before  I  git  through  with  the  buildin*. 

"  Well,  when  the  church  was  about  half  done,  things 
begun  to  go  wrong  amongst  the  congregation.  Some 
body  give  a  dancin '-party  at  the  tavern,  and  two  o* 
Judge  Grace's  daughters  was  there,  and  the  old  judge 
himself  dropped  in  and  looked  at  the  dancin'  a  while; 
and  before  folks'd  got  through  talkin'  about  that,  here 
come  the  news  that  Squire  Schuyler  had  taken  a  journey 

50 


HOUSE   THAT   WAS  A   WEDDING   FEE 

on  the  Sabbath  day,  and,  besides  that,  he'd  been  heard 
usin'  profane  language.  Of  course  it  all  come  to 
Brother  Wilson's  ears,  and  as  soon  as  he  heard  it  he 
didn't  lose  any  time  callin'  a  meetin'  of  the  session,  and 
they  summoned  the  old  judge  and  the  squire  to  appear 
before  'em  and  answer  to  the  charges  that  was  brought 
against  'em. 

"  The  session  was  in  the  habit  o'  meetin'  in  old 
Doctor  Brigham's  office,  and  when  they  come  together 
Judge  Grace  was  on  hand,  and  he  explained  how  he'd 
gone  to  the  tavern  to  bring  his  daughters  home,  and  the 
gyirls  wasn't  quite  ready  to  go  home,  and  he  had  to 
stay  and  wait  for  'em;  and  says  he,  '  I  acknowledge 
that  I  did  go  into  the  hall  where  the  young  folks  was 
dancin',  and  I  stood  and  looked  at  'em  a  while.  And,' 
says  he,  '  I  might  'a'  patted  my  foot,  keepin'  time  to 
the  music,  for  they  was  dancin'  a  Virginia  reel,  and 
it's  mighty  hard  for  me  to  keep  my  feet  still  when  there's 
a  Virginia  reel  goin'  on.  But,'  says  he,  *  that  was  the 
head  and  front  of  my  offendin'.' 

"  Then  Brother  Wilson  asked  him  if  his  daughters 
danced  at  the  party,  and  the  old  judge  he  looked  over 
at  one  o'  the  elders  and  winked,  and  then  he  says,  as 
solemn  as  you  please,  *  Not  while  I  was  there/  Says 

51 


THE   LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

he,  '  I  forbid  my  children  to  dance,  and  if  I  had  known 
the  nature  of  that  party  I  would  'a'  forbidden  'em  to  go 
to  it.  But,'  says  he,  '  I  can't  say  that  my  forbiddin' 
'em  would  'a'  kept  'em  from  goin',  but  not  bein'  church- 
members,'  says  he,  '  my  daughters  can't  be  disciplined 
for  dancin',  and  if  you're  going  to  discipline  the  parents 
for  what  the  children  do,'  says  he,  '  there's  some 
ministers  that'll  have  to  be  summoned  to  appear  before 
the  session.' 

"  And  with  that  everybody  laughed,  and  Brother 
Wilson  he  j'ined  in  as  hearty  as  anybody,  for  he  liked 
a  joke,  even  when  it  was  on  himself.  And  says  he, 
*  Well,  that's  one  case  settled.'  And  then  he  looks 
around,  and  says  he,  '  It  seems  that  Squire  Schuyler 
has  not  received  the  message  from  the  session.  Let 
the  clerk  of  the  session  send  him  another  summons, 
and  to  make  sure  of  its  reaching  him,  let  one  of  the 
session  hand  it  to  him  next  Monday;  that's  county- 
court  day,  and  he's  certain  to  be  in  town.'  So  they  fixed 
up  another  summons,  and  Judge  Grace  was  to  hand  it 
to  him. 

**  Well,  when  Monday  mornin*  come,  the  old  judge 
took  his  stand  on  the  corner  o'  the  street  in  front  o' 
the  church  and  watched  for  the  squire,  and  pretty  soon 

52 


HOUSE   THAT   WAS  A   WEDDING   FEE 

here  he  come  on  horseback,  gallopin'  as  hard  as  he 
could,  and  five  or  six  hounds  lopin'  at  the  horse's  heels. 
"  Squire  Schuyler,  honey,  was  a  man  different  from 
any  you  see  nowadays.  As  I  look  back  on  it  now,  it 
appears  to  me  that  he  was  the  kind  o'  man  that  believed 
in  gittin'  all  the  pleasure  he  could  out  o'  life.  Now 
adays  everybody's  tryin'  so  hard  to  make  money,  that 
they  don't  have  time  to  enjoy  life,  and  some  of  'em 
wouldn't  know  how  to  enjoy  it  if  they  had  the  tune.  But 
Squire  Schuyler  was  the  kind  that  knows  how  to  make 
the  most  out  of  everything  that  comes  their  way.  The 
Schuyler  family  was  a  big  family  in  Virginia  'way  back 
in  the  time  o'  the  first  settlements.  They  had  grants 
of  land  and  lived  high,  and  the  two  brothers  that 
come  to  Kentucky  had  the  same  way  of  livin'  and  takin' 
things  easy  and  makin'  pleasure  out  o'  life  as  they  went 
along.  Plenty  o'  money,  plenty  o'  land,  plenty  o' 
slaves,  fine  horses,  fine  cattle,  and  a  pack  o'  hounds  — 
that's  the  way  things  was  with  the  Schuylers,  Meredith 
and  Hamilton  both.  I  can  see  Squire  Meredith  Schuyler 
now,  the  way  he  looked  in  that  long  overcoat  made 
out  o'  dark  green  broadcloth  with  big  brass  buttons 
on  it,  ruffled  shirt-bosom,  high  boots  comin'  'way  up 
to  his  knees,  a  broad-brimmed  hat  set  back  on  his  head 

53 


THE   LAND    OF  LONG   AGO 

and  a  ridin'-whip  in  his  hand,  and  long  leather  gloves, 
and  the  hounds  skulkin'  along  behind  him. 

"  That's  the  way  he  looked  when  Judge  Grace 
walked  up  to  him  and  handed  him  the  second  summons. 
And  he  opened  the  paper  and  read  it,  and  then  he  tore 
it  in  two  and  threw  it  on  the  ground.  And  says  he, 
'  Does  the  Rev.  Samuel  Wilson  think  that  he's  the 
Pope  of  Rome  ?  '  Says  he,  '  You  go  to  him  and  tell 
him  for  me  that  this  is  a  free  country  and  I'm  a  free 
member  of  the  Presbyterian  church,  and  the  journeys 
I  take  and  the  language  I  use  are  a  matter  between 
me  and  my  conscience  and  my  God.'  And  with  that 
he  walked  off  and  left  Judge  Grace  standin'  there. 
And  the  judge  he  picked  up  the  pieces  o'  paper  and  went 
right  straight  to  Brother  Wilson's  house  and  told  him 
what  had  happened.  And  Brother  Wilson  he  listened 
to  it  all.  and  he  looked  mighty  stern  and  says  he,  '  Call 
the  session  together  at  three  o'clock  this  evening.' 
Says  he,  '  This  is  something  that  concerns  the  honor  of 
the  church,  and  we  can't  let  the  sun  go  down  on  it.' 

"  Well,  the  session,  they  all  got  together  at  the 
app'inted  time,  and  Brother  W'ilson  says,  says  he, 
'  Brethren,  there's  a  serious  question  to  be  settled, 
and  before  we  begin  let  us  ask  for  light  and  wisdom 

54 


HOUSE   THAT    WAS   A    WEDDING   FEE 

from  on  high.'  And  then  he  prayed  a  prayer  askin'  the 
Lord  to  guide  them  in  all  they  said  and  did,  and 
when  that  was  over,  he  called  on  Judge  Grace  to  tell 
the  session  jest  how  Squire  Schuyler  had  acted  and 
talked  when  he  handed  him  the  summons.  And  the 
judge  told  it  all  jest  so.  *  And  now,'  says  Brother 
Wilson,  '  I  want  you  gentlemen  to  understand  that 
what  Squire  Schuyler  said  and  did  is  not  an  insult  to 
me.'  Says  he, '  I  am  not  summoning  him  to  come  before 
this  session.'  Says  he,  'The  Squire  has  broken  the  rules 
of  the  church,  and  when  he  refuses  to  appear  before  the 
session,  he's  resisting  the  authority  of  the  church,  and 
when  a  man  does  that,  why,  there's  nothing,'  says  he, 
'  for  the  church  to  do  but  to  cut  him  off  from  its  mem 
bership.' 

"  Well,  the  session,  they  looked  at  each  other,  and 
they  hemmed  and  hawed,  and  finally  Doctor  Brigham 
says,  says  he,  '  Brother  Wilson,  I  believe  you  are  right 
about  this  thing;  but,'  says  he,  '  it  looks  like  this  might 
be  a  case  that  calls  for  a  little  of  the  wisdom  of  the 
serpent.'  Says  he,  '  You  know  there's  good  Scriptural 
authority  for  bein'  "  wise  as  serpents."  Says  he,  '  I 
know  the  Lord  is  no  respecter  of  persons;  but,'  says  he, 
'  there's  times  when  common  sense  tells  us  to  stop  and 

55 


THE   LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

consider  a  man's  standin'  and  influence.  Here  we  are,' 
says  he,  '  in  the  midst  of  buildin'  a  church.  There's 
none  too  much  money  comin'  to  us,  and  Squire 
Schuyler's  subscription  is  two  or  three  times  as  big  as 
anybody's,  and,  besides,  it's  all  in  hard  money,  and  if 
we  turn  him  out  o'  the  church,  we'll  run  short  o'  funds 
and  have  to  stop  buildin'.'  Says  he,  *  If  it  was  any  time 
but  now,  I'd  say,  "  Go  ahead,  and  we'll  all  stand  by 
you,"  but  as  we're  buildin'  a  church,  why,  it  looks  to 
me  like  the  wrong  time  to  turn  people  out  o'  the  church.' 
"  And  Brother  Wilson  jumped  up  and  says  he, 
*  That's  exactly  the  point  I'm  aiming  at.  We're  build 
ing  a  church,  and  that  is  the  reason  why  I  want  Squire 
Schuyler,  and  all  members  like  him,  deprived  of  church 
privileges.'  Says  he,  *  What  is  a  church,  anyway  ? 
Is  it  that  pile  of  brick  and  mortar  you're  putting  up 
out  yonder  ?  '  Says  he,  '  That's  the  church  building, 
but  the  church  itself,'  says  he,  *  no  eye  but  the  eye  of 
God  has  ever  seen  it,  for  it  is  builded  of  the  hearts  and 
consciences  of  men  and  women  that  have  known  the 
power  of  the  spirit.  That's  the  real  church,'  says  he, 
'  and  if  you've  got  that,  it  matters  not  whether  you've 
got  the  house  of  brick  and  stone  or  not.'  Says  he, 
*When  the  Pilgrim  Fathers  set  foot  on  Plymouth 

56 


HOUSE   THAT    WAS   A   WEDDING   FEE 

Rock  and  sang  a  hymn  and  knelt  down  and  prayed 
under  the  open  sky,  there  was  a  living  church  of  the 
living  God,  and  not  a  hypocrite  or  a  mammon-wor 
shiper  or  a  time-server  in  it.'  Says  he,  '  You  men  are 
mighty  particular  about  the  house  for  the  church  to 
worship  in.  You  are  looking  for  the  best  stone,  and  the 
best  brick,  and  the  best  mortar;  but  when  it  comes  to 
the  building  of  the  church  itself,  you're  ready  to  put 
in  hay,  straw,  and  stubble  for  the  sake  of  a  little  filthy 
lucre.'  » 

"  And  all  the  time  Brother  Wilson  was  talkin',  he 
was  poundin'  the  table  with  his  fist  till  the  pens  and 
the  papers  that  was  on  it  jest  danced  around,  and 
Judge  Grace  said  afterwards  that  he  believed  Brother 
Wilson 'd  rather  have  hit  some  o'  the  session  than  that 
table. 

"  Well,  he  sort  o'  stopped  to  take  his  breath,  and 
Doctor  Brigham  says,  says  he,  '  I  agree  with  you, 
Brother  Wilson,  with  all  my  heart.  But  there's  another 
thing  to  be  thought  of  before  we  do  anything  rash,' 
says  he.  '  Squire  Schuyler  ain't  only  a  big  contributor 
to  the  buildin'  of  the  church,  but  he's  the  mainstay  of 
the  church  when  it  comes  to  raisin'  the  preacher's 
salary.  You've  got  a  family  dependin'  on  you.'  says 

57 


THE   LAND   OP  LONG  AGO 

he,  '  and  do  you  think  you'd  be  doin'  justice  to  them 
to  take  a  step  that  would  cut  your  salary  down  ?  ' 

"  I  reckon  the  old  doctor  thought  he'd  pacify  Brother 
Wilson  and  bring  him  to  his  senses,  but  instead  o' 
pacifyin'  him,  it  made  him  madder.  He  doubled  up 
his  fist  and  brought  it  down  on  the  table  again,  and  says 
he,  '  If  a  minister  of  the  gospel  has  to  neglect  his  duty 
in  order  to  earn  his  salary  and  support  his  family,  then 
it's  time  for  honest  men  to  get  out  of  the  pulpit  and  make 
room  for  scoundrels  that'll  sell  their  principles  and 
their  self-respect  for  a  matter  of  a  few  dollars  and 
cents.'  Says  he,  '  No  matter  how  poor  I  am,  I've 
never  been  so  poor  that  I  couldn't  afford  to  do  right. 
I  left  the  army  for  the  church,  and  I  can  go  from  the 
church  back  to  the  army;  for,'  says  he,  '  I'd  rather  be 
a  ragged,  barefooted  soldier  in  the  ranks,  living  on 
half  rations  and  fighting  in  a  good  cause,  than  a  cowardly, 
skulking  preacher  dressed  in  broadcloth  and  sitting 
down  on  his  conscience  every  time  he  opened  his 
mouth.'  And  with  that  he  took  up  his  hat  and  went 
out  o'  the  office,  slammin'  the  door  after  him. 

"  And  Judge  Grace  says  to  Doctor  Brigham,  *  Where 
do  you  reckon  that  preacher  of  ours  got  his  notions 
of  what's  right  and  what's  wrong  ?  *  And  Doctor 

58 


HOUSE   THAT   WAS  A   WEDDING   FEE 

Brigham  shook  his  head  and  says  he,  '  I  reckon  he  got 
'em  from  the  Bible,  for,'  says  he,  '  such  notions  and 
such  conduct  might  do  in  the  days  when  preachers  was 
fed  by  the  ravens,  but  they  don't  fit  into  this  day  and 
generation  when  a  preacher  has  to  preach  for  his  livin'.' 

"  Well,  town  news  can  travel  to  the  country  as  fast 
as  country  news  can  travel  to  town,  and  of  course 
Squire  Schuyler  wasn't  long  hearin'  about  the  meetin' 
of  the  session,  and  as  soon  as  he  heard  it  he  got  on  his 
horse  and  rode  to  town,  and  went  right  straight  to 
Doctor  Brigham's  office  —  the  doctor  was  the  treasurer 
of  the  church  —  and  says  he,  '  I  understand  that  you 
gentlemen  of  the  session  are  considering  the  question 
of  turning  me  out  of  the  church,  and  some  of  you  think 
my  subscription  won't  be  paid  if  that's  done.  I  want 
you  to  understand,'  says  he,  '  that  my  word  is  better 
than  any  man's  bond.  I  promised  to  give  a  thousand 
dollars  toward  the  church  buildin';  here's  a  check  for 
fifteen  hundred.  Now  turn  me  out  if  you  want  to. 
You've  got  nothing  to  lose  by  turning  me  out  and  noth 
ing  to  gain  by  keeping  me  in.' 

"  That  ain't  exactly  what  Meredith  Schuyler  said, 
honey,"  remarked  Aunt  Jane,  pausing  in  her  story 
to  make  an  explanatory  note.  "  Jest  exactly  what  he 

59 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

said  it  wouldn't  be  right  for  me  or  any  Christian  woman 
to  tell,  for  Meredith  Schuyler  never  opened  his  mouth, 
unless  it  was  to  eat  his  meals,  that  he  didn't  take  the 
name  o'  the  Lord  in  vain.  But  that  was  the  sum  and 
substance  of  it. 

"  Well,  Doctor  Brigham  he  went  straight  to  Brother 
Wilson's  house  and  showed  him  the  check,  and  told 
him  about  meetin'  the  squire  and  all  that  had  passed 
between  'em,  and  Brother  Wilson  he  slapped  his  knee, 
and  says  he,  '  Now  we'll  have  a  meeting  of  the  session 
to-morrow  and  settle  the  matter  right  away.'  So  they 
all  met  again  in  the  doctor's  office,  and  Brother  W'ilson 
called  the  meetin'  to  order  and  says  he,  '  I  have  been 
asking  the  Lord  to  turn  the  hearts  and  minds  of  my 
session  that  they  might  see  certain  matters  as  I  see  them. 
I  cannot  tell  whether  my  prayer  has  been  answered,' 
says  he,  *  but  the  thing  that  kept  some  of  you  from 
doing  your  duty  last  week  has  been  providentially 
removed,  and  the  way  is  clear  before  our  feet.  Squire 
Schuyler,'  says  he,  *  has  not  only  paid  his  subscription, 
but  he  has  paid  five  hundred  dollars  more  than  his 
subscription.  I  move  that  Judge  Grace  be  a  committee 
of  one  to  write  the  squire  a  letter  accepting  his  gift,  and 
thanking  him  for  his  liberality.* 

60 


HOUSE   THAT    WAS   A   WEDDING   FEE 

"  Well,  they  seconded  the  motion,  and  Judge  Grace 
said  he'd  be  glad  to  write  the  letter,  and  then  Brother 
W'ilson  says,  '  The  payment  of  that  money  shows  that 
Squire  Schuyler  is  an  open-hearted,  open-handed 
gentleman.  I  wish  I  could  say  Christian  gentleman,' 
says  he,  '  but  the  charges  of  profanity  and  Sabbath- 
breaking  are  still  standing  against  him,  and  we  must  now 
do  our  duty  and  deprive  him  of  the  rights  and  privi 
leges  of  church-membership.' 

"  Well,  they  said  Doctor  Brigham  and  Judge  Grace 
both  threw  up  their  hands  and  begun  talkin'  at  once, 
and  says  they,  *  You  don't  mean  to  say  you're  goin'  to 
turn  the  squire  out  now! '  And  Brother  Wilson  says, 
says  he,  *  Why  not  ?  Here  are  the  charges  against 
him:  breaking  the  Sabbath,  taking  the  name  of  the 
Lord  in  vain,  and  refusing  to  appear  before  the  officers 
of  the  church  when  he's  summoned.'  And  Doctor 
Brigham  says,  *  But  he's  paid  his  subscription.'  And 
Brother  Wilson  says,  '  That's  no  more  than  an  honest 
man  ought  to  do.'  And  Judge  Grace  says,  '  But  he's 
paid  five  hundred  dollars  besides.'  And  Brother  Wilson 
says,  '  A  letter  of  thanks  is  all  we  owe  him  for  that.' 
Says  he,  '  Here's  a  matter  of  church  discipline,  and 
here's  a  matter  of  money,  and  one  has  nothing  whatever 

61 


THE   LAND    OF   LONG   AGO 

to  do  with  the  other.  Can't  you  see  that  ?  *  says  he. 
And  they  all  shook  their  heads  and  said  they  couldn't. 
And  Judge  Grace  says :  '  It  looks  to  me  like  it's  not 
treatin'  a  man  exactly  square  to  take  his  money  to  build 
the  church,  and  then  to  turn  him  out  o'  the  church. 
It  looks  like  if  a  man's  money's  good  enough  to  go  into 
the  church  walls,  the  man's  name's  good  enough  to 
stay  on  the  church  rolls.'  And  the  rest  of  the  session, 
they  agreed  with  the  old  judge.  But  Brother  Wilson, 
he  jumped  up  and  says  he,  '  A  man  that  sees  things  that 
way  has  a  conscience  that  needs  enlightening.'  Says 
he,  '  Money  itself  is  neither  good  nor  evil.  Whether 
it's  clean  or  unclean,'  says  he,  '  depends  on  the  way  it's 
given  and  the  way  it's  taken.  The  money  that's  given 
in  fulfilment  of  a  promise,'  says  he,  '  is  clean  money: 
let  it  go  into  the  walls  of  the  church.  Coming  from 
Meredith  Schuyler's  hands  the  way  it  does,'  says  he, 
'  it's  pure  gold.  He's  not  offering  it  as  a  bribe  to  us  to 
keep  him  in  the  church,  but  if  we  take  it  as  a  bribe,' 
says  he,  *  the  minute  it  gets  into  our  hands  it  turns  to 
base  coin,  and  it's  a  dishonor  to  us  who  take  it  and  an 
insult  to  him  who  gave  it.' 

"  Well,  the  session  set  there  and  studied  a  while, 
and  shook  their  heads,  and  said  they  couldn't  see  things 


HOUSE    THAT    WAS   A   WEDDING   FEE 

that  way.  And  Brother  Wilson  looked  at  'em  a  minute 
or  two,  and  then  he  jumped  up  and  says  he,  '  Let  us 
pray.'  And  then  he  offered  up  a  prayer  that  God  would 
send  his  spirit  into  the  hearts  and  consciences  of  his 
servants,  that  they  might  see  things  in  the  right  light, 
so  that  all  they  did  might  be  for  the  glory  of  God  and 
of  his  kingdom  on  earth.  Then  they  all  set  down  and 
waited  a  while,  and  Brother  Wilson  says,  '  Brethren, 
are  you  still  of  the  same  mind  ?  '  And  they  all  nodded 
their  heads,  and  says  he,  '  Well,  when  the  session 
thinks  one  way  and  the  minister  another,  it's  time  for 
them  to  separate.'  Says  he,  '  Here's  my  resignation 
by  word  of  mouth,  and  as  soon  as  I  go  home,  I'll  put 
it  in  writing.'  And  off  he  went,  leavin'  the  session  sittin' 
there. 

"  Well,  of  course  the  men  went  home  and  told  their 
wives  all  about  it,  and  before  the  next  day  everybody 
was  talkin'  about  Brother  Wilson  resignin',  and  the 
church-members  lined  up,  some  on  the  squire's  side 
and  some  on  the  preacher's  side,  jest  like  they  did  in 
Goshen  church  the  time  we  got  the  new  organ.  There 
was  the  church  walls  goin'  up,  and  both  sides  had  put 
money  into  'em,  and  neither  side  had  money  enough  to 
buy  the  other  side  out,  and  neither  side  wanted  to  be 

63 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

bought  out.  And  the  squire's  side,  they'd  say,  *  We've 
got  the  money,  and  you  can't  have  a  church  without 
money.'  And  the  preacher's  side,  they'd  say,  *  But 
we've  got  the  members  and  the  preacher,  and  you  can't 
have  a  church  without  church-members  and  a  preacher.' 
And  they  had  it  up  and  down  and  back  and  forth,  and 
the  Methodists  and  Babtists,  they  took  sides,  and  such 
quarrelin'  and  disputin'  you  never  heard.  Some  o' 
the  outsiders  went  to  Brother  Wilson,  and  says  they, 
*  You  Christian  people  are  settin'  a  mighty  bad  example 
to  us  outsiders.  Can't  somethin'  be  done,'  says  they, 
'  to  stop  this  wranglin'  amongst  the  churches  ?  ' 

"  And  Brother  Wilson,  he  laughed  at  'em,  and  says 
he,  '  Open  your  Bibles  and  find  out  who  it  was  said, 
"  I  came  not  to  send  peace,  but  a  sword."  Says  he, 
'  The  word  of  the  Lord  is  a  two-edged  sword,  and  all 
this  disturbance  means  that  the  Lord  is  visiting  his 
church  and  his  spirit  is  striving  with  the  spirit  of  man.' 

"  Well,  matters  was  standin'  in  this  loose,  unj'inted 
way  when  all  at  once  Squire  Schuyler's  weddin'  invita 
tions  come  out.  Everybody  knew  he  was  waitin'  on 
Miss  Drusilla  Elrod,  but  nobody  expected  the  weddin' 
that  soon,  and  folks  begun  speculatin'  about  who  he'd 
have  say  the  weddin'  ceremony,  and  Judge  Grace 

64 


HOUSE   THAT   WAS   A   WEDDING   FEE 

says :  *  Now  see  what  a  man  makes  by  havin'  such 
curious  ideas  and  bein'  so  rash  in  his  speech.  Here's 
a  big  weddin'  fee  that  ought  to  go  into  a  Presbyterian 
pocket,  and  instead  o'  that,  it'll  fall  to  some  Babtist 
or  Methodist  preacher.' 

"  But  —  bless  your  life! — the  day  before  the  weddin', 
Squire  Schuyler's  carriage  drove  up  to  the  parsonage, 
and  the  coachman  got  out  and  knocked  at  the  door  and 
handed  in  a  letter  with  a  big  red  seal,  and  it  was  from 
the  squire,  askin'  Brother  Wilson  to  say  the  weddin' 
ceremony  over  him,  and  promisin'  to  send  his  carriage 
to  bring  him  and  Mis'  Wilson  to  the  weddin'. 

"  Well,  that  weddin'  was  the  talk  o'  the  town  and 
the  country  for  many  a  day  before  and  after  it  happened. 
They  had  cyarpet  spread  from  the  gate  to  the  front 
door,  and  they  burned  over  a  hundred  wax  candles 
before  the  evenin'  was  over,  and  folks  said  it  looked  like 
they  had  ransacked  the  heavens  above  and  the  earth 
beneath  and  the  waters  under  the  earth  for  somethin' 
to  put  on  that  supper-table.  Brother  Wilson  said 
a  mighty  nice  ceremony  over  'em,  and  when  they  went 
out  to  supper  the  preacher  and  his  wife  set  on  the  right 
hand  of  the  bride  and  groom. 

"Well,  when  Brother  Wilson  got  ready  to  leave, 
65 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

he  went  up  to  Squire  Schuyler  to  shake  hands  and  say 
good  night,  and  the  squire  pulled  a  long  paper  out  o' 
the  breast  pocket  of  his  coat,  and  he  bowed,  and  says  he, 
'  Will  you  do  me  the  honor,  sir,  to  accept  this  ?  '  Squire 
Schuyler  had  a  mighty  grand  way  of  talkin',  honey,  and 
you  don't  see  any  such  manners  nowadays  as  the 
Schuylers  and  the  Elrods  used  to  have.  And  says  he, 
'  Don't  open  it  till  you  get  home.'  And  Brother  Wilson, 
he  says,  '  I'm  not  the  man  to  look  a  gift  horse  in  the 
mouth,  but,'  says  he,  '  I  must  see  the  gift  horse  before 
I  accept  it.'  With  that  he  opened  the  paper,  and  what 
do  you  reckon  it  was,  honey  ?  It  was  a  deed  to  that 
house  I  p'inted  out  to  you  the  day  we  went  to  town  — 
Schuyler  Hall,  they  call  it  —  and  I  don't  know  how 
many  acres  of  land  along  with  it. 

"  Brother  Wilson  he  looked  at  it  and  looked  at  it, 
and  it  seemed  as  if  he  couldn't  take  it  in.  And  says  he, 
'  There  must  be  some  mistake  about  this.  You  surely 
do  not  mean  to  deed  me  a  house  and  land  ?  ' 

"  And  the  squire  he  bows  again,  and  says  he, 
'  There's  no  mistake.  The  house  and  the  land  are 
yours  to  have  and  to  hold  while  you  live  and  to  will 
as  you  please  when  you  die.' 

"And  Brother  Wilson  held  out  the  paper  and  says  he, 
66 


HOUSE   THAT   WAS  A   WEDDING   FEE 

'  Sir,  it's  a  princely  gift,  but  I  can't  take  it.  It's  no 
suitable  fee  for  a  poor  preacher  like  myself.' 

"  And  the  squire  he  folded  his  arms  and  stepped  back 
to  keep  Brother  Wilson  from  puttin'  the  deed  into  his 
hands,  and  says  he,  '  It  takes  a  princely  gift  to  suit  an 
occasion  like  this.'  Says  he,  '  I  want  the  wedding 
fee  to  match  the  worth  of  my  bride  and  the  worth  of 
my  minister,  but,  not  being  a  prince,  this  is  the  best  I 
can  do.'  And  all  the  time  he  was  talkin',  Brother 
Wilson  was  shakin'  his  head  and  try  in'  to  make  him  take 
back  the  paper,  and  sayin',  '  I  can't  take  it,  I  can't 
take  it.' 

"  And  the  squire  says:  '  Sir,  you'll  have  to  take  it. 
The  deed  has  passed  from  my  hands  to  yours,  and  a 
Schuyler  never  takes  back  a  gift.'  And  Brother  Wilson, 
he  says,  '  But  the  gift  will  be  of  no  use  to  me.  I've 
handed  in  my  resignation,'  says  he,  '  and  the  presbytery 
will  shortly  send  me  to  another  field  of  usefulness.' 

"  And  the  squire  he  ripped  out  a  terrible  oath,  and 
says  he,  *  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,  for  swearing  in  your 
presence.  I've  heard,'  says  he,  *  of  the  doings  of  that 
session;  but,'  says  he,  *  if  I  have  influence  enough  to 
keep  myself  in  the  church,  I  have  influence  enough 
to  keep  you  in,  too;  and  if  I  can't  do  that,'  says  he, 

67 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

'  I'll  build  you  a  church  and  pay  you  a  salary  for  life.' 
Says  he,  *  There's  nothing  too  good  for  a  man  that 
refuses  to  bow  down  and  worship  the  golden  calf.' 

"  Honey,"  said  Aunt  Jane,  lowering  her  voice, 
"  considerin'  it  was  his  weddin'  night  and  him  talkin' 
to  a  preacher,  the  language  Squire  Schuyler  used  was 
far  from  fittin'.  What  he  said  was  all  right,  but  the 
way  he  said  it  was  all  wrong. 

"  Well,  they  argued  back  and  forth,  and  it  ended  by 
Brother  Wilson  goin'  home  with  the  deed  in  his  pocket. 
And  the  next  Saturday  Squire  Schuyler  come  before 
the  session  and  acknowledged  the  error  of  his  ways. 
'  And,'  says  he,  '  I  promise  in  future  to  keep  the  Sab 
bath  day  holy,  but  as  to  the  profane  language,'  says  he, 
'  it  comes  as  natural  to  me  to  swear  and  fight  as  it 
does  to  the  Rev.  Mr.  Wilson  to  pray  and  fight,  and  all 
I  can  promise  about  that,'  says  he,  '  is  that  hereafter 
I'll  try  to  do  the  most  of  my  swearing  in  private,  so 
my  example  won't  hurt  the  church  I'm  a  member  of.' 

"  And  Sunday  mornin',  child,  here  come  Squire 
Schuyler  and  his  bride,  as  fine  as  a  fiddle,  walkin'  down 
the  church  aisle  arm  in  arm,  and  the  squire  j'ined  in 
the  hymns,  and  when  the  contribution  plate  was  passed 
around  he  dropped  a  gold  piece  on  it  as  unconcerned 

68 


as  if  it  was  a  copper  cent.  And  Brother  Wilson,  he 
moved  out  to  the  house  the  squire  had  give  him,  and 
there  never  was  anybody  as  happy  as  he  appeared  to 
be.  He'd  walk  around  under  the  trees  and  look  at 
his  gyarden  on  one  side  and  his  clover-fields  on  the 
other  side,  and  he'd  say:  "  Delight  thyself  in  the 
Lord,  and  he  shall  give  thee  the  desires  of  thine  heart." 
I've  always  wanted  a  home  in  the  country,  and  the 
Lord  has  given  me  one  of  the  desires  of  my  heart.' 

"  But  he  didn't  live  to  enjoy  it  very  long,  poor  man. 
He  died  before  his  prime,  and  his  tombstone's  standin* 
now  in  the  old  graveyard  yonder  in  town.  They  had  a 
Bible  text  cyarved  on  it,  '  For  he  was  a  good  man,  and 
full  of  the  Holy  Ghost  and  of  God,  and  much  people 
was  added  unto  the  Lord.' 

"  And  now,  child,  put  on  your  hat.  I  see  Johnny 
Amos  comin'  with  the  buggy,  and  we'll  go  over  and  see 
the  old  house." 

Suppose  a  child  should  read  the  story  of  Beauty 
and  the  Beast,  and  straightway  a  fairy  godmother  should 
appear,  saying,  "  Now,  let  us  go  to  the  palace  of  the 
Beast."  If  you  can  fancy  that  child's  feelings,  you  will 
know  how  I  felt  when  I  stepped  into  the  old  buggy  to 
go  to  Schuyler  Hall. 

69 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

It  was  a  gray  September  afternoon.  The  air  was 
warm  and  still,  and  the  earth  lay  weary,  thirsty,  and 
patient  under  a  three-weeks  drouth.  Dust  was  thick 
over  the  grass,  flowers,  and  trees  along  the  roadside, 
and  on  the  weed-grown  fields  that  had  brought  forth 
their  harvest  for  the  sons  of  men  and  now,  sun-scorched 
and  desolate,  seemed  to  say,  "  Is  this  the  end,  the  end  of 
all?" 

Over  the  horizon  there  was  a  soft  haze  like  smoke 
from  the  smoldering  embers  of  summer's  dying  fires, 
and  in  the  west  gloomed  a  cloud  from  which  the  thunder 
and  the  lightning  would  be  loosed  before  the  midnight 
hour;  and  after  the  rain  would  come  a  season  of  gentle 
suns,  cool  dews,  and  frosts  scarce  colder  than  the  dew  — 
not  spring,  but  a  memory  of  spring  —  when  the  earth, 
looking  back  to  her  May,  would  send  a  ripple  of  green 
over  the  autumn  fields,  and,  like  thoughts  of  youth  in 
the  heart  of  age,  the  clover  and  the  dandelion  would 
spring  into  untimely  bloom. 

"  Things  look  sort  o'  down-hearted  and  discouraged, 
don't  they  ?  "  said  Aunt  Jane,  echoing  my  thought. 
"  But  jest  wait  till  the  Lord  sends  us  the  latter  rain, 
and  things'll  freshen  up  mightily.  There's  plenty  o' 
pretty  weather  to  come  betwixt  now  and  winter-time. 

70 


HOUSE   THAT   WAS   A   WEDDING   FEE 

Now,  child,  you  jump  out  and  open  the  gate,  like  I 
used  to  do  in  the  days  when  I  was  young  and  spry." 

Old  Nelly  crept  lazily  up  the  long  avenue,  and  my 
eyes  were  fixed  on  the  house  of  legend  that  lay  at  its 
end. 

"  Houses  and  lands  are  jest  like  pieces  o'  money," 
observed  Aunt  Jane.  "  They  pass  from  one  hand  to 
another,  and  this  old  place  has  had  many  an  owner 
since  Brother  Wilson's  day.  The  man  that  owns  it 
now  is  a  great-nephew  of  old  Peter  Cyartwright,  and 
him  and  his  wife's  mighty  proud  of  the  place." 

"  Do  they  object  to  strangers  coming  to  see  it  ?  " 
I  asked  as  we  neared  the  giant  cypress-tree  in  front  of 
the  porch. 

"  La,  child,"  laughed  Aunt  Jane.  "  Ain't  this  Ken 
tucky?  Who  ever  heard  of  a  Kentuckian  objectin' 
to  folks  go  in'  through  his  house!  We'll  jest  walk  in 
at  the  front  door  and  out  at  the  back  door  and  see  all 
that's  to  be  seen,  up-stairs  and  down." 

As  she  spoke  we  heard  the  voice  of  the  hostess 
bidding  us  welcome  to  Schuyler  Hall,  and,  fresh  from 
the  fairy-land  of  Aunt  Jane's  memories,  I  walked  into 
one  of  the  scenes  of  the  story,  the  house  that  was  a 
wedding  fee. 

71 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

There  was  a  hint  of  baronial  grandeur  in  the  lofty 
ceilings,  the  heavy  walnut  wainscoting  and  oaken 
floors,  the  huge  fireplaces  with  then-  tall  mantels;  and 
underneath  the  evident  remodeling  and  repairing  one 
saw  the  home  and  the  taste  of  a  vanished  generation, 
the  same  that  had  witnessed  the  building  of  Monti- 
cello,  for  the  hand  that  wrote  the  Declaration  of  Inde 
pendence  had  drawn  the  plans  for  the  house  that  was 
a  wedding  fee. 

From  room  to  room  I  went,  pleasing  myself  with 
fancies  of  the  man  who  had  never  bowed  the  knee  to 
Mammon.  My  feet  were  on  the  floors  that  he  had  trod. 
By  this  worn  hearthstone  he  had  knelt,  night  and  morn, 
to  the  God  who  had  given  him  the  desire  of  his  heart. 
From  this  doorway  he  had  looked  upon  the  broad  acres 
that  were  his  by  grace  of  a  generous  adversary,  the 
tribute  of  one  noble  nature  to  another.  In  the  long, 
low-ceiled  bedchamber  above  the  stately  lower  rooms 
he  had  slept  the  sleep  of  one  whose  conscience  is  void 
of  offense  toward  God  and  his  fellow  man,  and  through 
the  dormer-window  that  looked  toward  the  rising  of 
the  sun  his  soul  had  passed  out  in  its  flight  to  the 
stars. 

Dusty  and  flowerless,  the  garden  paths  wandered  to 
72 


HOUSE   THAT   WAS  A   WEDDING   FEE 

right  and  left,  but  not  one  did  I  miss  in  my  pilgrimage; 
for  who  could  know  what  shrines  of  remembrance  might 
lie  hidden  in  that  drift  of  leaves,  withered  and  fallen 
before  their  time?  Perhaps  the  minister's  hand  had 
planted  the  clump  of  tansy  and  the  bed  of  sage,  and  well 
I  knew  that  here  in  the  night  hours  he  had  met  his 
Maker,  and  his  garden  had  been  to  him  as  that  paradise 
where  Adam  walked  with  God. 

Near  the  house  was  a  spring  to  whose  waters  came  the 
Indian  and  the  deer  before  the  foot  of  the  pioneer  had 
touched  Kentucky  soil.  Rising  from  sources  too  deep 
to  be  affected  by  the  weather  of  earth,  no  drouth  ever 
checks  its  flow,  no  flood  increases  it,  and  here  I  knelt 
and  drank  to  the  memory  of  a  day  that  is  not  dead  nor 
can  ever  die. 

Again  on  the  threshold  of  the  old  house  I  paused 
and  looked  back  into  the  shadowy  hall.  Ah,  if  the  other 
world  would  for  a  moment  give  up  its  own  that  I  might 
see  them  "  in  their  habit  as  they  lived,"  the  Cavalier 
squire,  the  Puritan  minister,  the  bride  whose  womanly 
worth  was  but  faintly  shadowed  forth  in  the  princely 
gift  of  a  house  and  land!  But  no  presence  crossed  the 
dim  perspective  within,  and  the  only  whisper  I  heard 
was  the  wind  in  the  cypress-tree.  The  past  had  buried 

73 


THE   LAND    OF   LONG   AGO 

its  dead,  and  soon  their  habitation,  like  themselves, 
would  be  but  a  memory  and  a  name. 

In  that  mansion  used  to  be 
Free-hearted  hospitality; 
His  great  tires  up  the  chimney  roared, 
The  stranger  feasted  at  his  board. 

Fair  and  stately  are  the  dwellings  that  shelter  this 
latest  generation,  and  by  their  side  such  mansions  as 
Schuyler  Hall  seem  only  moldering,  ghost-haunted 
reminders  of  the  past.  But  those  who  dwelt  in  them 
are  immortal,  and  though  walls  of  flesh  and  walls  of 
stone  alike  crumble  to  dust,  there  shall  never  lack  a 
heart  to  treasure  and  a  pen  to  record  the  virtues  of  the 
men  and  women  of  those  early  times,  who,  in  reverence 
and  in  honor,  founded  and  built  the  "  old  Kentucky 
home." 


74 


Ill 


r; 


THE    COURTSHIP    OF    MISS    AMARYLLIS 

"S  curious,"  said  Aunt  Jane  meditatively,  "how, 
when  old  people  go  to  lookin'  back  on  the  way 
things  was  when  they  was  young,  it  appears  like 
everything  was  better  then  than  it  is  now.  Strawberries 
was  sweeter,  times  was  easier,  men  was  taller,  and 
women  prettier.  I  ain't  sayin'  a  word  against  your 
looks,  child;  you're  as  good-lookin'  as  the  best  of  'em 

77 


THE   LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

nowadays,  but  I  reckon  there  ain't  any  harm  in  me 
sayin'  that  you  don't  quite  come  up  to  Miss  Penelope 
and  Miss  Amaryllis.  I  git  to  thinkin'  about  them  two, 
and  I  wish  I  could  see  'em  by  the  side  o'  the  women  that 
folks  call  pretty  nowadays  so  I  could  tell  whether  they 
really  was  prettier  or  whether  it's  jest  an  old  woman's 
notion." 

"  Who  was  Miss  Amaryllis  ?  "  I  asked.  "  If  she 
matched  her  name  she  must  have  been  a  beauty." 

Aunt  Jane  smiled  delightedly  and  gave  an  assenting 
nod.  "  Miss  Amaryllis  was  Miss  Penelope's  sister," 
she  said.  "  They  was  first  cousins  to  Dick  Elrod,  that 
married  Annie  Crawford,  and  their  father  was  Judge 
Elrod,  Squire  Elrod's  brother.  The  old  judge  was  a 
mighty  learned  sort  of  a  man.  He  spent  most  of  his 
time  readin'  and  writin',  and  he  had  a  room  in  his 
house  with  nothin'  in  it  but  books,  clear  from  the  floor 
to  the  ceilin',  and  some  of  'em  he  never  allowed  anybody 
but  himself  to  touch,  he  thought  so  much  of  'em.  And 
next  to  his  books  it  was  his  two  daughters.  Folks 
used  to  say  that  the  judge's  wife  was  right  jealous  of 
his  books  and  of  Miss  Penelope  and  Miss  Amaryllis. 

"  Maybe  you  know,  child,  where  the  old  judge  got 
the  names  for  his  daughters.  The  only  names  I'm 

78 


COURTSHIP   OF   MISS  AMARYLLIS 

used  to  are  the  good  old  family  names  that  come  out 
o'  the  Bible,  and  some  people  said  Penelope  and 
Amaryllis  couldn't  be  called  Christian  names,  because 
they  sounded  so  heathenish,  and  the  judge's  wife  she 
objected  to  'em  because,  she  said,  they  was  too  long 
for  folks  to  say.  But  the  old  judge  wouldn't  hear  to 
anybody's  shortenin'  the  children's  names.  Says  he, 
'  If  you  give  a  child  a  plain  name  it'll  be  likely  to  turn 
out  a  plain  man  or  a  plain  woman.  But,'  says  he, 
'  I've  given  my  children  fine  names,  and  I  expect  them 
to  grow  up  into  women  that'll  become  their  names.' 
And  I  reckon  they  did,  for  two  prettier  women  you 
never  saw,  and  their  names  seemed  to  suit  'em  exactly. 
And  as  for  their  bein'  too  long,  I  always  liked  to  say 
'em  and  hear  people  say  'em.  Penelope  and  Amaryllis  — 
why,  they're  jest  as  easy  to  say  as  Mary  and  Marthy, 
and  I  always  thought  they  sounded  like  fallin'  water 
or  the  singin'  of  a  bird,  Amaryllis  especially." 

Aunt  Jane  paused  here  and  laid  down  her  work. 
She  had  reached  a  difficult  point  in  the  story,  and  there 
must  be  time  for  thought. 

"  Now,  how  in  the  world  am  I  goin'  to  tell  you  how 
Miss  Amaryllis  looked  ?  "  she  said,  with  an  accent  of 
gentle  despair.  "  Why,  it's  as  hard  as  tryin'  to  tell  about 

79 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

that  yeller  rose  that  grew  in  old  lady  Elrod's  gyarden. 
There  never  was  such  a  rose  as  that,  and  there  never 
was  such  a  gyirl  as  Miss  Amaryllis,  or  Miss  Penelope 
either,  for  that  matter.  The  judge  was  always  havin' 
their  pictures  painted,  and  there  was  one,  no  bigger 
around  than  that,  set  in  gold.  If  I  jest  had  it  to  show 
you!  But  I  reckon  that  picture  o'  Miss  Amaryllis 
is  lyin'  in  a  grave  somewhere  on  the  other  side  o'  the 
ocean.  Mighty  near  every  woman  has  somethin' 
pretty  about  her;  one '11  have  pretty  eyes  and  another  '11 
have  a  pretty  color,  but  Miss  Amaryllis  was  pretty 
every  way.  I  ricollect  once  I  was  passin'  along  Main 
Street,  one  County  Court  day,  and  the  old  judge's  carriage 
was  standin'  in  front  o'  Tom  Barker's  dry-goods  store, 
and  Miss  Amaryllis  was  leanin'  back  against  the 
cushions,  and  her  hand  was  layin'  on  the  carriage  door, 
and  she  had  a  ring  on  one  of  her  fingers  with  a  yeller 
stone  in  it;  the  sun  was  shinin'  on  it  and,  I  declare  to 
goodness,  from  that  day  to  this  I  never  see  a  white 
lily  with  the  yeller  heart  and  the  dust  like  grains  o' 
gold  inside  of  it  that  I  don't  think  o'  Miss  Amaryllis's 
hand  and  Miss  Amaryllis's  ring. 

"  They  both  had  golden  hair,  Miss  Penelope  and 
Miss   Amaryllis,  but    Miss   Penelope   had   gray  eyes 

80 


MISS   PENELOPE   AND   MISS  AMARYLLIS. 
80. 


COURTSHIP  OF  MISS  AMARYLLIS 

like  a  dove's,  and  Miss  Amaryllis  had  brown  ones 
with  dark  lashes.  I  reckon  it  was  Miss  Amaryllis's 
eyes  and  hair  that  made  her  what  she  was.  You 
can  find  plenty  o'  women  with  brown  eyes  and 
brown  hair,  but  when  you  find  one  with  brown 
eyes  and  golden  hair,  why,  it's  somethin'  to  ricollect. 
And  then,  there  was  her  voice.  You've  heard  me 
tell  many  a  time  about  Miss  Penelope's  voice,  and 
Miss  Amaryllis  had  one  that  was  jest  as  sweet,  but 
hers  was  low  and  deep  where  Miss  Penelope's  was 
clear  and  high.  Miss  Amaryllis  played  on  the  guitar, 
and  summer  nights  they'd  sit  out  on  the  portico  and 
sing  together,  and  the  old  judge  used  to  say  that  when 
his  gyirls  sung  the  very  mockin'-birds  stopped  to 
listen. 

"  Many  a  woman  has  hard  work  to  find  one  man 
to  love  her,  and  many  a  woman  can't  find  even  one, 
but  Miss  Amaryllis  had  more  beaus  on  her  string,  and 
more  strings  to  her  bow,  than  any  fiddler  in  the  state; 
and  she  danced  with  'em  and  sung  to  'em  and  played 
with  'em  like  a  cat  plays  with  mice,  and  then,  when  she 
got  ready,  she'd  send  'em  on  their  way,  and  she'd  go 
on  hers.  And  as  fast  as  one  went  another'd  come. 
The  judge's  wife  used  to  shake  her  head  and  say, 

81 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

'  My  daughter,  there's  such  a  thing  as  a  woman  sayin' 
"No"  once  too  often.'  And  Miss  Amaryllis  she'd  say, 
'  Yes,  and  there's  such  a  thing  as  a  woman  sayin'  "  Yes  " 
a  little  too  soon;'  and  the  old  judge  he'd  laugh  and 
say,  '  Let  her  alone;  one  of  these  days  she'll  find  her 
master.'  And  sure  enough  she  did.  They  said  it  was 
love  at  first  sight  on  both  sides  when  Miss  Amaryllis 
and  Hamilton  Schuyler  met  each  other  at  a  big  party  at 
Squire  Elrod's,  and  before  long  the  weddin'  day  was 
set,  and  everybody  was  sayin'  that  Miss  Amaryllis  had 
found  her  match  at  last. 

"  Hamilton  Schuyler  was  as  handsome  as  Miss 
Amaryllis  was  pretty,  and  when  it  come  to  family  he 
had  as  much  to  brag  of  as  she  had.  He  was  a  first 
cousin  to  Squire  Meredith  Schuyler,  and  all  the  Schuy- 
lers  had  fine  houses  and  plenty  o'  land.  Rich  folks  in 
that  day  had  a  way  of  namin'  their  places  jest  as  rich 
folks  do  now.  The  Elrod  place  was  called  The  Cedars, 
and  Hamilton  Schuyler  had  a  big  house  on  the  same 
'pike,  and  that  was  Schuyler  Court.  The  Schuylers  was 
mighty  proud  o'  their  blood,  and  I  used  to  hear  folks 
talk  about  the  coat  of  arms  that  the  squire  had  hangin' 
in  his  front  hall.  Abram  was  there  once  to  see  about 
some  land  the  squire  was  havin'  cleared,  and  he  said 

82 


COURTSHIP   OF   MISS  AMARYLLIS 

he  took  particular  notice  of  the  coat  of  arms,  but  to  save 
his  life  he  couldn't  see  why  they  called  it  that,  for 
there  wasn't  any  coat  or  any  arms  on  it  that  he  could 
see,  jest  a  curious  colored  thing,  red  and  blue  and 
black,  and  on  top  of  it  some  kind  of  a  beast  standin' 
on  its  hind  legs. 

"  The  Elrods  come  of  plain  people  at  the  start, 
but  they  could  hold  up  their  heads  with  the  best,  for 
they  had  plenty  o'  money  and  plenty  o'  learnin',  too, 
and  the  judge's  wife  was  as  blue-blooded  as  any  Schuyler 
and  twice  as  proud  of  her  blood,  in  the  bargain.  She 
had  pictures,  and  silver  things,  and  dishes  that'd  been 
in  the  family  for  generations,  and  her  great-great 
grandfather  was  a  Fairfax. 

"  There's  some  people,  child,  that'll  tell  you  that  one 
person's  as  good  as  another,  and  all  blood's  alike,  and 
all  of  it  red.  And  maybe  they  are  right.  And  when  it 
comes  to  kindness  and  right  principles  and  all  that, 
why,  Squire  Schuyler  and  the  judge's  wife  wasn't 
a  bit  better'n  Abram  and  me.  But  when  it  come  to 
their  manners  and  their  language,  they  had  somethin' 
we  didn't  have.  Abram  was  jest  as  polite  a  man  as 
Squire  Schuyler,  but  he  couldn't  take  off  his  hat  to  a 
lady  the  way  the  squire  could,  and  I  couldn't  bow 

83 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

and  smile  like  the  judge's  wife,  and  I  reckon  that's 
where  the  blue  blood  comes  in. 

"  I  ricollect  talkin'  to  Parson  Page  once  about  this 
very  thing,  and  he  says,  '  The  Lord  hath  made  of  one 
blood  all  the  nations  of  the  earth,  and  in  His  sight  there 
is  neither  high  nor  low  according  to  blood.'  Says  he, 
'  The  Lord  looks  at  the  life  and  the  conscience  of  a 
man  to  tell  whether  he's  high  or  low;  and,'  says  he, 
*  in  His  sight  there's  little  difference  between  the  good 
man  who  is  born  in  the  high  places  of  the  earth  and  the 
good  man  who  walks  in  lowly  paths.  Both  are  pure 
gold,  but  one's  been  shaped  and  stamped  by  goin' 
through  the  mint,  and  the  other's  rough  in  the  nugget.' 

"  Now,  what  was  I  startin'  out  to  tell  you,  child, 
before  I  got  to  talkin'  about  blue  blood  ?  Oh,  yes,  I 
ricollect  now. 

"  Well,  everybody  was  lookin'  for  Miss  Amaryllis's 
weddin'  cyards,  when,  all  at  once,  her  and  Hamilton 
had  a  quarrel,  and  the  match  was  broke  off  then  and 
there.  It  was  a  long  time  before  anybody  knew  what 
had  happened  betwixt  the  two,  but  at  last  it  come  out 
that  they'd  quarreled  about  where  they'd  live  after 
they  married.  Of  course  he  expected  to  take  his  bride 
to  his  own  house,  and  of  course  any  right-minded 

84 


COURTSHIP   OF   MISS  AMARYLLIS 

woman  would  'a'  been  willin'  to  go  with  her  husband; 
but  when  he  happened  to  say  somethin'  about  the  time 
when  she'd  be  livin'  at  Schuyler  Court,  she  give  him  to 
understand  that  she  couldn't  leave  The  Cedars,  and 
that  whoever  married  her  would  have  to  live  at  her 
father's  house. 

"  Now  it's  my  belief,  honey,  that  Miss  Amaryllis 
hadn't  any  idea  of  makin'  Hamilton  Schuyler  leave 
Schuyler  Court  and  come  and  live  at  The  Cedars. 
She  was  jest  foolin'  when  she  said  that.  She'd  been 
used  to  twistin'  the  men  round  her  little  finger  all  her 
life,  and  she  wanted  to  see  if  Hamilton  was  like  all  the 
rest.  But  Hamilton  took  it  all  in  earnest,  and  he  said 
whoever  heard  of  a  man  givin'  up  his  own  home  and 
goin'  to  live  with  his  father-in-law,  and  did  she  want 
him  to  be  the  laughin '-stock  of  the  whole  country? 
And  she  said  that  if  he  cared  more  for  his  house  than  he 
cared  for  her  he  could  stay  at  Schuyler  Court  and  she'd 
stay  at  The  Cedars.  And  he  said  it  wasn't  Schuyler 
Court  he  cared  for;  he'd  leave  Schuyler  Court  and 
build  her  another  house  anywhere  she  wanted  to  live, 
but  if  she  wouldn't  leave  her  father's  house,  then  he'd 
have  to  believe  that  she  cared  more  for  The  Cedars 
than  she  cared  for  him.  And  they  had  it  up  and  down 

85 


THE   LAND   OF  LONG   AGO 

and  back  and  forth,  and  at  last  she  give  him  back  his 
ring  and  sent  him  away  jest  like  she'd  sent  the  others. 

"  The  judge  and  his  wife  was  terribly  upset  about 
it.  They  both  loved  Hamilton  like  he  was  their  own  son, 
and  the  old  lady  said  that  Miss  Amaryllis  had  thrown 
away  her  best  chance,  and  maybe  her  last  one,  and  she 
grieved  mightily,  for  in  that  day,  honey,  an  old-maid 
daughter  wasn't  considered  a  blessin'  by  any  means. 
They  tried  their  best  to  git  Hamilton  and  Miss  Amaryl 
lis  to  make  up,  but  he  said  he  was  certain  she  didn't 
love  him  as  well  as  a  woman  ought  to  love  the  man 
she  was  goin'  to  marry,  and  she  said  a  man  who  wouldn't 
try  to  please  a  woman  before  marriage  wouldn't  be 
likely  to  try  to  please  her  after  they  married;  and  he 
said  he'd  be  willin'  to  give  up  his  way,  if  he  was  only 
certain  she  loved  him  right,  and  she  said  how  could  a 
woman  love  a  man  that  put  his  pleasure  before  hers? 
And  the  longer  the  old  people  argued  with  her,  the 
more  contrairy  it  made  Miss  Amaryllis,  and  finally 
they  had  to  give  it  up. 

"  Of  course  all  her  old  beaus  come  flockin'  back  as 
soon  as  they  heard  that  Miss  Amaryllis  had  give  Hamil 
ton  his  walkin '-papers,  and  things  was  as  gay  as  ever 
at  The  Cedars.  But  Hamilton,  he  settled  down  at 

86 


COURTSHIP   OF   MISS  AMARYLLIS 

Schuyler  Court,  and  it  looked  like  all  the  pleasure  he 
had  in  life  was  gone.  Some  men,  if  they  can't  git  the 
woman  they  want,  they'll  take  one  they  don't  want 
and  manage  to  put  up  with  her  tolerable  well.  But 
Hamilton  wasn't  that  sort.  With  him  it  was  the  woman 
he  loved  or  nobody. 

"  Well,  the  judge  dropped  off  right  sudden  with 
paralysis,  and  in  a  year  or  two  the  old  lady  followed 
him,  and  Miss  Penelope  married,  and  there  was  Miss 
Amaryllis  all  alone  in  the  big  house  with  jest  the  house 
keeper,  Miss  Sempronia  Davis,  and  the  family  servants; 
and  there  was  Hamilton  off  yonder  in  Schuyler  Court, 
pale  and  thin  and  quiet,  and  the  years  passin',  and 
both  of  'em  lovin'  each  other  more  every  day,  and 
losin'  their  happiness  and  wastin'  their  lives  all  on 
account  of  a  foolish  little  quarrel. 

"  They  said  the  judge  always  felt  hard  towards  Miss 
Amaryllis  for  disapp'intin  him  so,  but  he  divided  the 
property  even  betwixt  her  and  Miss  Penelope  and  give 
her  The  Cedars.  *  I  give  and  bequeath  to  my  daughter 
Amaryllis  The  Cedars,  since  she  seems  to  care  more 
for  this  than  for  anything  else  in  the  world  '  —  that  was 
the  way  the  will  was. 

"  I  reckon  most  women  would  'a*  lost  their  beauty 
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THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

livin'  the  way  Miss  Amaryllis  did,  everything  goin* 
wrong  with  her,  and  old  age  certain  to  come,  but  it 
looked  like  all  that  time  could  do  to  her  was  to  make 
her  prettier,  and  there  wasn't  a  young  gyirl  in  the 
country  that  could  hold  a  candle  to  her. 

"  I  don't  exactly  ricollect  how  long  things  went  on 
this  way,  but  I  reckon  death  would  'a'  found  'em  holdin' 
out  against  each  other  if  Schuyler  Court  hadn't 
burned. 

"  They  said  Hamilton  had  been  lookin'  over  old 
papers  and  letters  durin'  the  day,  and  he'd  thrown  a 
lot  of  'em  into  the  fireplace  and  put  a  match  to  'em, 
and  the  chimney  bein'  old  and  the  mortar  between  the 
bricks  crumbled  away  in  places,  some  o'  the  sparks  must 
'a'  got  to  the  rafters,  and  before  they  found  it  out  the 
roof  was  pretty  near  ready  to  fall.  The  slaves  worked 
hard  to  save  the  furniture  and  things  down-stairs,  but 
they  said  Hamilton  didn't  seem  to  keer  whether  any 
thing  was  saved  or  not.  He'd  lost  the  woman  he  loved, 
and  the  house  was  partly  the  cause  of  it;  and  so  I 
reckon  the  loss  of  the  house  was  a  small  matter.  He 
jest  stood  with  his  arms  folded  and  watched  the  walls 
crumble  and  fall,  and  then  he  walked  over  to  the  little 
cabin  where  the  overseer  had  his  office,  and  he  set 

88 


COURTSHIP   OF   MISS   AMARYLLIS 

down  and  dropped  his  head  in  his  hands  and  never 
stirred  nor  spoke  all  the  rest  of  the  night.  And  the 
next  day  he  was  still  sittin'  there  when  one  of  Miss 
Amaryllis's  slaves  come  in  and  handed  him  a  letter. 
He  took  it  and  read  it,  and  they  said  he  acted  like  some 
body  raised  from  the  dead.  He  rushed  to  the  stable 
and  saddled  his  horse  and  got  to  The  Cedars  ahead  of 
the  slave  that'd  brought  the  letter,  and  when  he  got 
there  every  servant  on  the  place  was  standin'  at  the 
gate  bowin'  and  scrapin'  and  say  in' :  '  Howdy,  mahster! 
Howdy,  mahster! '  and  Miss  Sempronia  met  him  at  the 
door  and  says  she :  '  Walk  up-stairs,  sir.  Your  room 
is  ready.  Miss  Amaryllis  herself  fixed  it  for  you.' 
And  Hamilton  followed  her,  not  knowin'  what  it  all 
meant,  and  expectin'  every  minute  to  see  Miss  Amaryl 
lis;  and  when  they  got  up-stairs  Miss  Sempronia 
showed  him  his  room  and  handed  him  another  letter, 
and  then  she  went  on  down-stairs,  leavin'  him  to  read 
the  letter. 

"  And  what  do  you  reckon  Miss  Amaryllis  had  done  ? 
Why,  she'd  given  him  The  Cedars  —  the  house  and 
everything  in  it  and  all  the  slaves  that  belonged  to 
the  place.  I  reckon  Hamilton  was  like  Brother  Wilson 
when  he  got  his  weddin'  fee  from  the  squire.  He 

89 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

couldn't  take  it  in  at  first,  and  when  he  begun  to  see 
what  she'd  done  he  run  out  o'  the  room  and  down 
stairs  callin'  her  name :  '  Amaryllis !  Amaryllis !  ' 
And  the  housekeeper,  she  met  him  at  the  bottom  o' 
the  stairs,  and  says  she,  '  Miss  Amaryllis  is  not  here.' 
And  says  he,  '  Not  here  ?  Then  where  is  she  ?  '  And 
Miss  Sempronia  says,  '  That's  something  that  nobody 
knows.  You  know  Miss  Amaryllis  is  not  in  the  habit 
of  giving  an  account  of  herself  to  other  people,  and 
all  I  know  is  that  she  left  The  Cedars  early  this  morning 
on  horseback,  but  where  she  went  I  can't  say,  and  as 
to  her  coming  back,'  says  she,  *  the  place  belongs 
to  you  now,  and  it  wouldn't  be  proper  for  her  to  be  here.' 
"  '  Which  way  did  she  go  ?  '  says  Hamilton.  '  Tell 
me  that.' 

'  She  went  towards  town,'  says  Miss  Sempronia. 
And  before  the  words  was  out  of  her  mouth,  Hamilton 
was  out  o'  the  front  door  and  on  his  way  to  town.  They 
said  he  stopped  everybody  he  met  on  the  road  and 
asked  if  they'd  seen  Miss  Amaryllis,  and  when  he  got 
to  town,  he  found  out  that  Miss  Amaryllis  had  been 
seen  gettin'  into  the  stage  and  go  in'  in  the  direction 
of  Bell's  Tavern.  So  he  set  out  for  the  tavern.  I 
reckon  you've  heard  o'  Bell's  Tavern,  child.  That 

90 


COURTSHIP   OF   MISS   AMARYLLIS 

was  a  great  stoppin '-place  in  your  grandfather's  day. 
Folks  was  always  sure  of  a  good  meal  when  they  got 
to  that  tavern,  and  the  drinks  Uncle  Billy  mixed  was 
famous  all  over  the  State. 

"  Well,  Hamilton  come  gallopin'  up  to  the  gate 
and  jumped  off  and  threw  his  bridle  to  the  boy  that 
looked  after  the  travelers'  horses.  He  rushed  into  the 
tavern,  and  says  he,  *  I'm  looking  for  Miss  Amaryllis 
Elrod.  Has  she  been  this  way  ?  ' 

"  Uncle  Billy  was  sittin'  in  a  big  hickory  chair  with 
one  of  his  feet  all  bandaged  and  propped  up  on  another 
chair.  The  old  man  suffered  a  heap  from  rheumatism. 
He  had  a  bottle  and  a  tumbler  and  a  bowl  of  honey 
on  the  table  by  him,  and  he  was  mixin'  one  of  his  peach- 
and-honey  toddies  —  peach-brandy  sweetened  with 
honey  instead  of  sugar.  Well,  he  didn't  even  look  up, 
bein'  so  used  to  people  comin'  in  and  goin'  out.  He 
jest  went  on  stirrin'  his  toddy  and  puttin'  in  a  little 
more  honey  and  a  little  more  peach.  And  at  last  he 
says,  '  Yes,  she's  been  this  way.' 

"  And  Hamilton  says :  '  Where  is  she  ?  Where  is 
she  ?  '  right  quick  and  sharp.  And  Uncle  Billy  went  on 
stirrin',  and  at  last  he  says,  '  I  don't  know.'  And 
Hamilton  says:  '  Is  she  here  ?  Has  she  gone ?  Which 

91 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

way  did  she  go?'  And  Uncle  Billy  says:  'Maybe 
it's  my  time  to  ask  a  few  questions.  What's  your  name, 
and  who  are  you,  anyway  ? '  And  Hamilton  says,  '  My 
name's  Hamilton  Schuyler,  at  your  service,  sir,  if 
you'll  tell  me  which  way  the  lady  went.' 

"  And  with  that  Uncle  Billy  took  a  good  look  at 
him  and  says  he,  'Why,  Hamilton,  is  this  you?  I 
reckon  that  last  toddy  must  'a'  gone  to  my  eyes  for  me 
not  to  know  you,  when  I  knew  your  mother  and  your 
father  before  you.'  Says  he,  '  You've  been  chasin' 
Miss  Amaryllis  for  five  years  or  more.  How  does  it 
happen  you  haven't  caught  up  with  her  yet?  I  beg 
your  pardon  for  talkin'  so  short  a  while  ago,  but,' 
says  he,  '  when  a  man  comes  along  askin'  me  which 
way  a  woman  went,  I've  got  to  know  somethin'  about 
the  man  before  I  tell  him  what  he  wants  to  know.' 
Says  he,  '  Sit  down  and  have  a  toddy  with  me.'  And 
Hamilton,  he  thanked  him  and  says  he,  '  No  toddy 
for  me,  Uncle  Billy.  Tell  me  which  way  the  lady  went, 
and  I'm  off.' 

"  Uncle  Billy  he  laughed  and  stirred  his  toddy, 
tryin'  to  make  the  honey  and  the  brandy  mix,  and  says 
he,  *  That's  the  way  with  you  young  fellers.  I've 
seen  the  day  when  a  toddy  couldn't  'a'  stopped  me  from 

92 


COURTSHIP  OF  MISS  AMARYLLIS 

follerin'  after  a  gyirl;  but  now,'  says  he,  'I'd  hate  to 
have  to  choose  betwixt  a  woman  and  this  here  peach 
and  honey.'  And  Hamilton,  he  was  tappin'  his  boot 
with  his  ridin'-whip  and  walkin'  the  floor,  and  Uncle 
Billy  jest  kept  on  talkin'  and  stirrin'.  '  You're  young 
and  strong,'  says  he,  '  and  I'm  old  and  feeble.  It's 
half-past  ten  in  the  mornin'  with  you,  and  it's  half- 
past  eleven  at  night  with  me.  You're  on  the  big  road, 
and  jest  before  you  there's  a  gyirl  with  yeller  hair 
and  brown  eyes,  and  you'll  ketch  up  with  her  maybe 
before  night,  and  here  I  am  in  my  old  hickory  chair  and 
nothin'  before  me  but  my  old  lame  foot  and  my  peach 
and  honey.  But,'  says  he,  '  son,  take  an  old  man's 
advice:  don't  be  in  too  big  a  hurry  to  ketch  up  with 
that  yeller-haired  gyirl.'  Says  he,  '  You  know  the  old 
sayin'  about  a  bird  in  the  hand  bein'  worth  two  in  the 
bush,  but  from  long  experience,'  says  he,  '  I've  learned 
that  it's  the  other  way  with  women.  A  woman  in  the 
bush  is  worth  two  in  the  hand,  so  keep  her  in  the  bush 
as  long  as  you  can.' 

"  Well,  they  said  Hamilton  burst  out  laughin', 
and  seein'  that  the  old  man  was  too  far  gone 
to  give  him  any  information,  he  called  up  all  the 
servants  on  the  place,  and  he  pulled  out  a  handful  o' 

93 


THE   LAND   OF   LONG   AGO 

silver  and  threw  it  around  amongst  'em,  and  by  ques- 
tionin'  this  one  and  that  one  he  found  out  which  way 
Miss  Amaryllis  had  gone,  and  away  he  went  after  her 
as  hard  as  he  could  gallop.  And,  to  make  a  long  story 
short,  he  hunted  around  over  the  biggest  half  of  Warren 
County,  and  he  wore  out  two  or  three  horses,  before  he 
found  Miss  Amaryllis. 

"  She'd  gone  to  a  big  country  place  where  one  of 
her  cousins  on  the  Elrod  side  lived,  and  when  Hamilton 
got  there  early  one  mornin',  he  found  there  was  goin' 
to  be  a  party  that  night,  and  everybody  for  miles 
around  was  to  be  there.  So  he  rode  back  to  town  and 
went  to  the  county  clerk's  office  and  got  his  license, 
and  then  he  found  out  where  the  Presbyterian  minister 
lived,  and  he  went  there  and  told  him  who  he  was  and 
what  he'd  come  for.  The  minister  he  thought  a  minute 
and  says  he,  '  I  don't  know  what  my  congregation 
will  say  about  me  going  to  a  dance  to  perform  a  wedding 
ceremony.  Can't  you  wait  till  to-morrow  morning  ?  ' 
They  said  Hamilton  stamped  his  foot  and  swore  — 
swearin'  was  a  Schuyler  failin'  —  and  says  he,  '  I've 
waited  five  years,  and  here  you  ask  me  to  wait  till  to 
morrow  morning.'  Says  he,  '  Is  there  water  or  milk  in 
your  veins  ?  ' 

94 


COURTSHIP   OF   MISS  AMARYLLIS 

"  And  the  minister  laughed,  and  says  he,  '  No, 
there's  blood  in  my  veins,  the  same  as  there  is  in  yours, 
and  I'm  a  man  before  I'm  a  preacher.  I'll  go  with 
you,  dancing  or  no  dancing,  and  see  the  thing  through.' 
And  Hamilton  laughed,  and  says  he,  'It's  not  a  dance 
you're  going  to;  it's  a  wedding.' 

"  Well,  he  and  the  young  preacher  set  out  for  the 
country  place  where  Miss  Amaryllis  was  stayin',  and 
got  there  jest  as  the  fiddlers  was  tunin'  up  for  the  first 
dance  and  all  the  men  was  choosin'  their  partners. 
Hamilton  had  on  his  ridin '-clothes,  but  no  matter  what 
kind  o'  clothes  he  had  on,  he  always  had  a  grand  sort  of 
a  look,  and  they  said  when  he  come  into  the  big  room, 
everybody  turned  around  and  stopped  talkin'.  And 
he  stood  still  a  minute,  lookin'  for  Miss  Amaryllis, 
and  as  soon  as  he  saw  her,  he  walked  straight  up  and 
took  hold  of  her  hand,  and  says  he,  *  The  next  dance 
is  mine.'  And  the  young  man  that  was  standin'  by 
Miss  Amaryllis  he  fired  up  and  says  he,  '  You're 
mistaken.  Miss  Amaryllis  has  promised  me  this  dance.' 
And  Hamilton,  he  bowed  and  says  he,  *  Five  years  ago, 
sir,  she  promised  me  the  next  dance,  and  I've  been 
traveling  night  and  day  for  a  week  to  have  that  promise 
kept.'  And  he  looks  down  at  Miss  Amaryllis  and  says 

95 


THE   LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

he,  '  Isn't  that  so  ?  '  And  she  smiles  at  the  young 
man  and  nods  her  head,  and  jest  then  the  music  struck 
up  and  she  danced  off  with  Hamilton. 

"  And  when  the  dance  was  over  he  kept  hold  of  her 
hand  and  led  her  over  to  where  her  cousin  was  standin', 
and  says  he,  *  Madam,  the  minister  is  in  the  next  room, 
and  with  your  leave  there'll  be  a  wedding  here  to-night.' 
And  Miss  Amaryllis  tried  to  pull  her  hand  out  of  his, 
and  she  was  laughin'  and  blushin',  and  everybody  come 
crowdin'  around  to  see  what  was  the  matter,  and  she 
says,  '  Let  go  my  hand,  Hamilton.  Wait  till  I  go 
home,  and  I'll  marry  you.'  And  he  laughed  and  says 
he,  '  You  haven't  any  home  to  go  to.  The  Cedars 
belongs  to  me,  and  we  might  as  well  be  married  here.' 
And  she  says,  *  Well,  let  me  go  up-stairs  and  put  on  a 
white  dress.' 

"  They  said  she  had  on  a  yeller  silk,  jest  the  color 
of  her  hair,  with  white  lace  on  the  waist  and  sleeves 
and  a  string  o'  pearls  around  her  neck.  And  Hamilton 
jest  held  on  to  her  hand  still  tighter.  And  she  says, 
4  Hamilton,  you  hurt  my  hand;  please  let  go.'  And  he 
says,  '  I  wouldn't  hurt  you  for  worlds,  but  I'm  going 
to  hold  your  hand  till  the  minister  pronounces  us  man 
and  wife.'  And  he  put  his  thumb  and  finger  together, 

96 


COURTSHIP   OF   MISS  AMARYLLIS 

jest  so,  around  her  wrist  like  a  bracelet,  and  says  he, 
'  That  can't  hurt  you.  Now  choose  your  bridesmaids, 
and  we'll  call  the  minister  in  and  be  married  at  once.' 
Says  he, '  I  always  intended  that  my  bride  should  wear 
yellow  silk.'  And  one  o'  the  gyirls  says,  '  But  she  must 
take  off  the  pearl  necklace;  pearls  at  a  wedding  mean 
tears.'  And  Hamilton  says,  '  Let  it  alone;  every 
pearl  stands  for  a  tear  of  joy.'  And  then  he  looked 
around  and  says  he,  '  I  want  four  groomsmen.'  And 
the  young  man  that  Miss  Amaryllis  was  about  to  dance 
with  when  Hamilton  come  in,  he  spoke  up  and  says  he, 
'  I'd  rather  be  the  bridegroom,  but  if  I  can't  be  that, 
I'll  be  first  groomsman.'  And  three  other  young  men, 
they  said  they'd  be  groomsmen,  too.  And  they  all  stood 
up,  and  the  preacher  come  in,  and  he  married  'em  jest 
as  solemn  as  if  they'd  been  in  church. 

"  They  said  it  was  right  curious,  how  they'd  been 
fiddlin'  and  dancin'  and  carryin'  on,  but  the  minute  the 
preacher  stepped  into  the  room  everybody  was  as  still 
as  death.  I've  heard  folks  say  that  they  always  felt 
like  laughin'  when  they  oughtn't  to  laugh,  at  a  funeral 
or  a  communion  service  or  a  babtizin',  but,  child,  when 
a  man  and  a  woman  stands  up  side  by  side  and  the 
preacher  begins  to  say  the  words  that  binds  'em  together 

97 


THE   LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

for  life,  nobody  ever  feels  like  laughin'  then.  A  weddin', 
honey,  is  the  solemnest  thing  in  the  world,  and  they  said 
before  the  preacher  got  through  sayin'  the  ceremony 
over  Hamilton  and  Miss  Amaryllis,  there  was  tears  in 
nearly  everybody's  eyes,  and  when  he  stooped  down 
to  kiss  the  bride,  it  was  so  still  you  could  hear  the  little 
screech-owls  in  the  woods  at  the  side  o'  the  house.  And 
Hamilton  turned  around  and  bowed  to  the  first  grooms 
man  and  says  he,  '  Sir,  I  robbed  you  of  your  partner  a 
while  ago,  now  I  give  her  back  to  you  for  the  next  dance'; 
and  he  took  hold  o'  the  first  bridesmaid's  hand  and 
motioned  to  the  fiddlers  to  begin  playin',  and  they 
struck  up  a  tune  and  everybody  went  to  dancin'  as  if 
life  wasn't  made  for  anything  but  pleasure.  And  the 
next  mornin',  Hamilton  and  his  bride  started  for  home, 
ridin'  horseback  and  stoppin'  along  the  way  as  they 
come  to  taverns  or  their  friends'  houses,  and  folks  said 
they  looked  like  they'd  found  the  pot  of  gold  at  the 
foot  o'  the  rainbow." 

Aunt  Jane  began  rolling  up  her  knitting,  a  sure  sign 
that  the  story  was  ended.  But  even  the  tales  of  child 
hood  went  farther  than  this.  It  was  not  enough  to 
know  "  and  so  they  were  married  ";  I  must  hear  also 
how  they  **  lived  happily  ever  afterward." 

98 


COURTSHIP   OF   MISS  AMARYLLIS 

"  Oh!  go  on,"  I  cried;  "  this  can't  be  the  end  of  the 
story." 

"  Sometimes  it's  best  not  to  know  the  end  of  a 
story,"  said  Aunt  Jane  gravely. 

But  I  heeded  not  the  warning.  I  must  know  more  of 
this  girl  who  drew  to  herself  the  love  of  men  as  the  ocean 
draws  the  rivers.  "  Tell  me  a  little  more  about  Miss 
Amaryllis,"  I  pleaded. 

But  Aunt  Jane  was  silent,  and  her  eyes  were  sad. 
"  There's  mighty  little  more  to  tell,"  she  said  at  last, 
her  words  coming  slowly  and  reluctantly.  "  Miss 
Amaryllis  died  when  her  baby  was  born.  The  baby 
died,  too,  and  they  buried  both  of  'em  in  the  same  grave. 
It  was  the  dead  o'  winter,  and  one  o'  the  coldest  winters 
we'd  had  for  years.  The  ground  was  froze  solid  as 
a  rock,  and  the  snow  was  nearly  a  foot  deep.  It's  hard 
enough,  child,  to  lay  the  dead  in  the  ground  when  the 
sun's  shinin'  and  the  earth's  warm  and  there's  plenty 
of  sweet  flowers  and  green  sod  to  cover  the  grave  with. 
But  when  it  comes  to  cuttin'  a  grave  in  the  snow  and 
the  ice  and  layin'  away  the  body  of  a  child  that's  bone 
of  your  bone  and  flesh  of  your  flesh,  or  maybe  a  hus 
band  or  a  wife  that's  nearer  and  dearer  yet,  why,  there's 
no  words,  I  reckon,  that  can  tell  what  a  trial  that  is. 

99 


THE   LAND   OF  LONG   AGO 

I  always  used  to  pray  that  my  funerals  might  come  in 
the  spring  or  summer  when  everything  was  warm  and 
pretty,  and,  child,  my  prayer  was  answered.  I  never 
had  a  winter  funeral.  I  ricollect  my  baby  brother 
dyin'  when  I  was  jest  a  little  child.  It  was  towards 
the  end  o'  winter,  and  the  first  night  after  the  funeral 
it  rained,  a  hard,  cold,  beatin'  rain,  and  mother  walked 
the  floor  all  night  and  wrung  her  hands  and  cried  at  the 
thought  of  her  child's  body  lyin'  in  the  grave  and  the 
cold  rain  fallin'  on  it;  and  she  never  got  riconciled  to 
the  child's  death  and  able  to  sleep  right,  till  spring 
come  and  the  grass  got  green,  and  she  could  carry 
flowers  and  put  'em  on  its  little  grave. 

"  And  that's  the  way  Hamilton  Schuyler  was,  only 
worse.  He  had  the  body  dressed  in  the  dress  she  was 
wearin'  at  the  dance  the  night  he  married  her,  and  when 
they  put  the  corpse  in  the  coffin  in  the  big  parlor,  he 
stayed  by  it  for  three  days  and  nights,  leanin'  over  and 
whisperin'  and  smilin'  and  smoothin'  her  hah*  and 
pattin'  the  little  dead  baby  on  its  hands  and  face.  Every 
time  they'd  say  anything  about  buryin*  the  body,  he'd 
throw  his  arms  around  the  coffin  and  carry  on  so  terrible 
that  there  was  nothin'  to  do  but  let  him  have  his  way. 
He  kept  sayin',  *  Maybe  she's  not  dead.  She  may  be 

100 


COURTSHIP   OF   MISS   AMARYLLIS 

sleepin'  like  the  baby,  and  to-morrow  they'll  both 
wake  up.'  And  then  he'd  say,  '  If  it  was  only 
summer-time!  Can't  you  find  some  roses  ?  She  ought 
to  have  her  hands  full  of  roses.' 

"  And  as  soon  as  dark  come,  he'd  have  all  the  wax 
candles  lighted  in  the  parlor,  and  they  said  it  made 
your  flesh  creep  to  hear  him  talkin'  and  laughin'  with 
the  dead  all  night  long,  and  the  whole  room  blazin' 
with  light  jest  like  there  was  a  weddin'  goin' 
on. 

"  Well,  when  the  third  day  come,  they  said  the 
funeral  had  to  be,  and  they  dug  the  grave  in  the  family 
buryin'-ground  and  cut  branches  of  cedar  and  pine 
and  lined  it  so  you  couldn't  see  the  frozen  earth  any 
where,  and  they  covered  the  coffin  with  ivy  off  the  walls 
o'  the  old  house.  It  was  one  o'  these  clear,  sunshiny 
winter  days,  when  the  sky's  soft  and  blue  jest  like  it 
is  in  May  or  June,  but  the  air  was  bitter  cold,  and  there 
was  a  crust  of  ice  on  top  o'  the  snow  and  the  frozen 
ground  under  it.  Hamilton  had  got  kind  o'  quiet  by 
this  time,  and  he  was  so  weak  from  loss  o'  sleep  and  not 
eatin'  anything  that  they  thought  they  wouldn't  have 
any  more  trouble,  but  when  they  let  the  coffin  down 
into  the  ground  and  the  first  clod  fell  on  it,  it  took  the 

101  - 


THE   LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

strength  of  three  men  to  keep  Hamilton  from  throwin* 
himself  into  the  grave." 

Alas,  the  sad,  sad  story,  beginning  with  love  and 
spring  and  youth,  and  ending  beside  an  open  grave 
under  wintry  skies !  Aunt  Jane  was  wiping  her  glasses, 
and  my  tears  were  flowing  fast. 

"  Death  has  mighty  few  terrors  when  it  comes  at 
the  right  time,  honey,"  said  Aunt  Jane  tremulously. 
"You  know  the  Bible  says  'We  all  do  fade  as  a  leaf'; 
and  when  a  person's  lived  out  his  app'inted  time,  three 
score  years  and  ten,  or  maybe  four  score,  why,  his  death 
is  jest  like  the  fallin'  of  a  leaf.  It's  had  its  spring  and 
its  summer,  and  it's  nothin'  to  cry  about  when  the  frost 
comes  and  touches  it,  and  it  falls  to  the  ground  to  make 
room  for  the  new  leaves  that'll  come  next  spring.  But 
jest  suppose  that  the  leaves  fell  as  soon  as  the  trees  got 
green  and  pretty  in  the  springtime,  and  suppose  all 
the  roses  died  in  the  bud.  Wouldn't  this  be  a  sorrowful 
world,  if  things  was  that  way  ?  There  ain't  any  bitter 
ness  in  the  tears  that's  shed  over  old  folks'  coffins,  but 
when  I  think  o'  Miss  Amaryllis  dyin'  the  way  she  did, 
before  she'd  lived  her  life  and  had  the  happiness  she 
ought  to  'a'  had,  I  feel  like  questionin'  the  ways  o* 
Providence.  And  then,  again,  I  think  maybe  she  had  as 

102 


COURTSHIP   OF   MISS  AMARYLLIS 

much  happiness  in  that  one  year  as  most  folks  has  in 
a  lifetime.  It  ain't  often  a  man  loves  a  woman  so  much 
that  he  can't  live  without  her,  but  that's  the  way 
Hamilton  Schuyler  loved  Miss  Amaryllis,  and  that's 
the  main  reason  why  I  ricollect  her  so  well  after  all 
these  years.  Her  hair  and  her  eyes  would  keep  me  from 
forgittin'  her  outright,  and  when  I  think  of  how  she 
looked  and  how  Hamilton  Schuyler  loved  her,  it  seems 
like  she  was  different  from  all  the  other  women  that 
ever  I've  known." 

"  Dust  and  ashes!  Dust  and  ashes!  "  sings  the  poet; 
but  "  Love  and  beauty!  Love  and  beauty!  "  answers 
the  soul.  And  thus,  doubly  immortalized,  and  radiant 
as  when  she  played  with  the  hearts  of  men  in  her  golden 
youth,  this  maiden  more  beautiful  than  her  name  shall 
live  in  the  tale  I  tell  as  it  was  told  to  me. 

"  You  ricollect  the  Bible  says  '  Love  is  strong  as 
death,'  "  said  Aunt  Jane,  "  but  that  ain't  always  so. 
You'll  see  a  husband  or  a  wife  die,  and  you'll  think 
the  one  that's  left  never  will  git  over  grievin'  for  the  one 
that's  gone,  and  the  first  thing  you  know  there's  a  second 
marriage,  and  that  shows  that  death  is  stronger  than 
love,  and  I  reckon  it's  well  that  it's  so.  If  one's  taken 
and  the  other's  left,  it's  because  the  livin'  has  got  a 

103 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

work  to  do  in  this  world.  They  can't  spend  their  lives 
grievin'  after  the  dead,  and  they  oughtn't  to  try  to 
foller  the  dead.  But  once  in  a  while,  honey,  it's  a 
good  thing  to  find  a  love  that's  stronger  than  death. 
'  Many  waters  cannot  quench  love,  neither  can  the 
floods  drown  it.' ' 

The  tremulous  old  voice  ceased  again  and  there  was 
a  long  silence.  At  last,  "  What  became  of  Hamilton 
Schuyler  ?  "  I  asked  softly. 

Aunt  Jane  roused  herself  with  a  start.  She  also 
had  known  a  love  that  was  stronger  than  death, 
and  her  thoughts  were  not  with  Hamilton  and  Miss 
Amaryllis. 

"  Hamilton?  "  she  said  dreamily.  "  Oh,  yes!  Poor 
man !  Poor  man !  It  was  all  they  could  do  to  make  him 
come  away  from  the  grave,  and  when  they  got  him 
home  and  tried  to  persuade  him  to  go  to  bed  and  take 
some  rest,  he'd  throw  out  his  arms  and  push  'em  away 
and  say,  *  There's  no  more  rest  for  me  on  this  earth. 
How  can  a  man  get  into  his  bed  and  sleep,  when  his 
wife  and  child  are  lyin'  out  in  the  frozen  ground?' 
And  for  weeks  he'd  go  out  to  the  graveyard  in  the 
dead  o'  the  night  and  wander  up  and  down  the 
house  like  a  ghost.  He  stayed  around  the  place 

104 


COURTSHIP   OF   MISS  AMARYLLIS 

till  spring  come,  and  when  the  flowers  begun  to 
bloom  he  got  worse  instead  o'  better.  It  looked 
like  every  flower  and  tree  reminded  him  of  Miss 
Amaryllis.  And  he'd  walk  down  the  gyarden  lookin' 
at  her  rose-bushes  and  talkin'  to  himself,  and 
every  time  a  rose  bloomed,  he'd  gether  it  and  put 
it  on  her  grave.  And  one  mornin',  about  the  last 
o'  May,  he  told  one  o'  the  slaves  to  saddle  his  horse, 
and  when  they  asked  him  where  he  was  goin',  he  said : 
'  I'm  going  to  find  her.  I  found  her  once,  and  I  can 
find  her  again.' 

"  They  tried  to  reason  with  him,  but  they  might  as 
well  'a'  talked  to  the  air.  He  rode  off  like  mad,  and  the 
next  folks  heard  of  him,  he  was  'way  off  yonder  in  some 
foreign  country;  and  after  a  while  the  news  come  that 
he'd  been  found  dead  in  his  bed.  Whether  he  grieved 
himself  to  death  or  whether  he  took  his  own  life  nobody 
ever  knew.  I  ricollect  how  glad  I  was  when 
I  .heard  about  it,  for  I  knew  he'd  found  Miss 
Amaryllis. 

"  But  there's  one  thing,  child,  that  troubles  me  and 
always  has  troubled  me,  especially  since  Abram  died. 
You  know  that  text  that  says  there's  neither  marryin' 
nor  givin'  in  marriage  in  heaven,  but  we'll  all  be  like 

105 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

the  angels  ?  I've  thought  and  thought  about  that  text, 
but  I  can't  see  how  a  man  and  a  woman  that's  loved 
each  other  and  lived  together  as  husband  and  wife 
for  a  lifetime  in  this  world  can  ever  be  anything  but 
husband  and  wife,  no  matter  what  other  world  they 
go  to  nor  how  long  death's  kept  'em  parted  from 
each  other;  and  when  death  comes  between  'em 
at  the  very  beginnin',  it  looks  like  they  ought  to 
have  their  happiness  in  heaven.  I  know  it's  wrong 
to  go  against  the  words  o'  the  Bible,  and  yet  I 
can't  help  hopin'  and  trustin'  that  somehow  or  other 
Hamilton  Schuyler  found  his  wife  and  the  little  child 
that  never  drew  a  breath  in  this  world;  for  that  was 
all  the  heaven  he  wanted,  and  it  looks  like  he  had  a 
right  to  it." 

Does  it  call  for  laughter  or  for  tears,  this  splendid 
audacity  of  the  soul  that  gives  us  strength  to  stand 
among  the  wrecks  of  human  life  and  in  the  face  of 
inexorable  law  plead  our  right  to  love  and  happiness  ? 
And  yet,  is  not  inexorable  law,  but  another  name  for 
the  eternal  justice  that  measures  out  to  every  man 
his  just  deserts  ?  And  who  but  the  fool  dare  say 
that  eternal  justice  is  but  a  dream  ? 

For  "  now  abideth  faith,  hope,  love,  these  three; 
106 


COURTSHIP   OF   MISS  AMARYLLIS 

but  the  greatest  of  these  is  love."  And  if  faith  and  hope 
fail  not,  surely  the  love  that  is  stronger  than  death 
shall  one  day  find  its  own,  and  hold  its  own  through 
all  eternity. 


107 


IV 
AUNT  JANE    GOES    A-VISITING 


IV 


AUNT    JANE    GOES   A-VTSETING 

"ES,"  said  Aunt  Jane,  "  I've  been  up  to  Lex- 
in'ton  to  see  Henrietta,  and  I  jest  got  home 
day  before  yesterday.  Set  down,  child,  and  I'll  tell 
you  all  about  it." 

The  old  lady's  eyes  were  sparkling  with  happiness, 
a  faint  flush  was  in  her  cheeks,  and  she  looked  as  if 

111 


Y 


THE   LAND    OF   LONG   AGO 

she  had  drunk  from  that    fount  that  all  are  seeking 
and  that  none  has  ever  found. 

"  Henrietta's  been  wantin'  me  to  visit  her  for  many 
a  year  back,"  she  went  on;  "  but  I've  been  puttin'  it 
off,  one  way  or  another,  like  old  folks  always  do  when 
young  folks  wants  'em  to  do  anything  that's  for  their 
good.  But  you  see  I've  lived  right  here  in  this  old  house 
pretty  near  all  my  life,  and  takin'  me  up  and  carryin' 
me  to  off  to  Lexin'ton  was  jest  about  like  takin'  up  that 
old  ellum-tree  out  yonder  and  carryin'  it  over  and  settin' 
it  out  in  another  county.  You've  got  to  be  mighty 
keerful  how  you  move  old  folks  around.  However,  I've 
been  and  come  back  again,  and  I  ain't  any  the  worse 
for  it,  and  Henrietta's  satisfied  because  she's  had  her 
way.  Henrietta  used  to  live  in  Danville,  you  know, 
but  Archibald  —  that's  her  husband  —  sold  out  and 
moved  to  Lexin'ton  about  a  year  ago,  and  he's  built 
her  a  house  the  like  o'  which  never  was  seen  in  the  blue- 
grass  region,  so  they  say.  And  as  soon  as  they  moved 
into  it,  Henrietta  wrote  to  me  and  says,  '  Grandma, 
I'm  not  goin'  to  ask  you  to  come  to  see  me.  But 
next  week  Archibald  and  I  will  be  down,  and 
we're  goin'  to  take  you  home  with  us  whether  you  want 
to  go  or  not.' ' 

112 


AUNT    JANE     GOES    A -VISITING 

Aunt  Jane's  laugh  had  a  ring  of  pride,  for  the  love 
of  this  favorite  grandchild  was  very  dear  to  her. 

"  And,  honey,"  she  said  confidentially,  "  that  was 
the  only  thing  that  made  me  go.  If  Henrietta  had  kept 
on  jest  askin'  me  to  come  to  see  her,  I'd  'a'  kept  on 
holdin'  back.  I  know  Henrietta  loves  me,  but  whenever 
she'd  say  anything  about  me  goin'  to  see  her,  I'd  think 
to  myself,  '  Now,  Henrietta's  jest  askin'  me  because  she 
thinks  I'll  feel  bad  if  she  don't;  and,  like  as  not,  if  I 
was  to  go  up  there  amongst  all  ker  fine  friends,  she'd 
be  ashamed  of  me.'  But  when  she  said  she  was  comin' 
to  take  me  back  with  her,  I  says  to  myself,  '  I'll  go,  for 
I  know  Henrietta  wants  me.5 

"  Henrietta  was  mightily  afraid  the  ride  on  the 
cyars  would  tire  me  out;  but  I  don't  reckon  goin'  to 
heaven'll  be  any  easier  and  pleasanter  to  me  than  goin' 
to  Lexin'ton  that  June  day.  It  looked  like  everything 
was  fixed  to  suit  me.  The  weather  was  jest  the  kind 
I  like,  and  the  seats  in  the  cyar  was  as  comfortable  as 
any  chair  I  ever  set  in,  and  I  jest  leaned  back  and  looked 
out  o'  the  winder  and  thought  about  the  times  when 
I'd  ride  to  town  with  father,  when  I  was  a  little  child, 
and  father'd  take  care  of  me  and  p'int  out  the  sights 
to  me  like  Henrietta  and  Archibald  did  that  day. 

113 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

"  I  reckon  Kentuckians  are  the  biggest  fools  in  the 
world  over  their  own  State.  Sam  Amos  used  to  say  if 
you'd  set  a  born-and-bred  Kentuckian  down  in  the 
Gyarden  of  Eden  he'd  begin  to  brag  about  his  farm 
over  in  the  blue-grass;  and  you  jest  ride  from  here  to 
Lexin'ton  about  the  first  o'  June,  what  Abram  used  to 
call  '  clover  and  blue-grass  tune,'  and  if  you  are  a 
Kentuckian,  you'll  thank  God,  and  if  you  ain't  a  Ken 
tuckian,  you'll  wish  you  was. 

"  There's  a  heap  of  good  to  be  got  out  of  travelin', 
honey.  One  thing  is,  I  won't  have  to  go  back  thirty 
or  forty  years  to  find  somethin'  to  talk  about  when  you 
come  to  see  me.  Even  if  I  hadn't  seen  Henrietta  or 
Henrietta's  home,  the  things  I  saw  on  the  way  from 
here  to  Lexin'ton  will  keep  me  talkin'  the  rest  o'  my 
days  and  make  me  happier  jest  to  think  of  'em.  Such 
farms  and  hills  and  trees  and  orchards,  and  such 
level  corn-fields,  oat-fields  and  pretty  rollin'  land  in 
between  'em  I  know  can't  be  seen  anywhere  but 
in  Kentucky. 

"  I  couldn't  help  thinkin'  of  old  man  Mose  Elrod. 
His  farm  j'ined  the  Amos  farm,  and  a  better  piece 
o*  land  you  couldn't  'a'  found;  but  he  had  a  cousin 
down  in  Texas,  and  the  cousin  kept  writin'  to  Him 

114 


AUNT     JANE     GOES     A  -  VISITING 

about  the  soil  o'  Texas  and  the  climate  o'  Texas  and 
the  money  there  was  to  be  made  there,  till  finally  old 
man  Mose  got  the  Texas  fever  and  sold  out  and  moved 
down  in  the  neighborhood  o'  San  Antonio.  Every 
now  and  then  he'd  write  home,  and  from  what  he  said 
we  judged  he  was  prosperin'  and  feelin'  contented  in 
his  new  home;  but  in  about  a  year  and  a  half  here  he 
come,  walkin'  in  and  takin'  the  neighbors  by  surprise. 
He  went  all  over  the  neighborhood  shakin'  hands  and 
tellin'  folks  how  glad  he  was  to  be  back  again.  Says 
he,  *  I've  been  homesick  night  and  day  for  eighteen 
months,  and  all  the  money  in  Texas  couldn't  keep  me 
away  from  Kentucky  any  longer.' 

"  He  said  he  set  up  all  night  on  the  cyars  so's  the 
conductor  would  tell  him  when  he  got  on  Kentucky 
soil,  and  the  nearer  he  got  home  the  happier  he  got, 
and  when  the  brakeman  hollered,  '  Muldraughs  Hill!  * 
he  jumped  up,  threw  up  his  hat,  and  hollered,  '  Glory ! 
Hallelujah ! '  Of  course  the  passengers  was  skeered, 
and  one  man  says,  *  Search  him  and  see  if  he's  got  any 
weapons  on  him,'  and  the  conductor  come  runnin* 
up,  and  old  man  Mose  says, '  I  haven't  got  any  weapons, 
conductor,  and  I'm  not  drunk  nor  crazy,  but  I've  been 
down  in  Texas  for  a  year  and  a  half,  and  I'm  jest  happy 

115 


THE   LAND    OF   LONG   AGO 

over  gittin'  back  home.'  And  the  conductor  says: 
'  Well,  that's  excuse  enough  for  anything.  Holler  as 
loud  as  you  please;  you  sha'n't  be  put  off  the  train.' 

"  The  old  man  said  he  could  'a'  stood  it  if  there'd 
been  any  knobs  or  hills  or  big  trees.  But  he  said  that 
prairie  land  nearly  run  him  crazy,  especially  in  the 
evenin'.  He  said  he'd  watch  the  sun  goin'  down  like 
a  ball  o'  fire  away  off  across  that  level  prairie,  and 
he'd  think  about  how  the  sunset  looked  in  Kentucky, 
with  old  Pilot  Knob  and  Prewitt's  Knob  loomin'  up 
on  the  horizon,  and  he'd  drop  his  head  in  his  hands 
and  cry  like  a  baby. 

"  And  talkin'  about  sunsets,  child,  reminds  me  of 
a  picture  in  Henrietta's  parlor.  There  never  was  any 
thing  like  the  inside  o'  Henrietta's  home.  Her  and 
Archibald  went  all  over  Europe  when  they  was  first 
married,  and  everywhere  they  went  they  gethered  up 
pictures  and  marble  images  and  such  things,  and 
whichever  way  you'd  turn  there  was  somethin'  to  look 
at  that  you  never 'd  seen  before.  And  when  you've 
been  livin'  all  your  life  in  a  house  like  this  old  farm 
house  o'  mine,  it  gives  you  a  curious  sort  o'  feelin'  to 
be  set  down  all  at  once  in  a  place  like  Henrietta's. 
Why,  for  two  or  three  days  I  hardly  knew  the  name  of 

116 


AUNT    JANE     GOES    A  -  VISITING 

anything  I  was  eatin'  or  drinkin'  or  lookin'  at  or  walkin' 
on  or  settin'  on,  and  when  I  try  to  ricollect  the  different 
rooms,  I  git  'em  all  mixed  up.  But  there's  one  thing 
that's  jest  as  clear  as  day  in  my  mind,  and  that  is  the 
picture  I'm  tellin'  you  about.  The  name  of  it  was 
'The  Angelus.'  Now  ain't  that  a  pretty  name?  — 
'  The  Angelus.'  Why,  it  sounds  jest  like  music.  The 
minute  I  come  across  it,  I  stopped  still  in  front  of  it  and 
looked  and  looked  and  looked.  And  says  I,  *  Child, 
this  picture  makes  me  feel  like  sayin'  my  prayers.' 
And  Henrietta  laughed,  and  says  she,  '  Grandma,  that's 
jest  what  the  people  in  the  picture  are  do  in'.'  And  she 
said  that  over  yonder  in  France,  in  some  o'  the  places 
out  in  the  country,  places  pretty  much  like  our  Goshen 
neighborhood,  I  reckon,  they  was  in  the  habit  o'  ringin' 
the  church  bells  at  sundown,  and  when  people  heard 
the  bells,  they'd  stop  whatever  they  was  doin'  and  say 
their  prayers.  And  she  told  me  all  about  the  man  that 
painted  '  The  Angelus,'  how  poor  he  was,  and  how  folks 
laughed  at  his  pictures,  and  wouldn't  buy  'em  because 
he  painted  things  jest  as  they  was,  plain  and  natural. 
She  said  her  picture  was  a  copy  of  the  one  he  painted, 
and  when  she  saw  how  much  I  liked  it,  she  saysa 
'  Grandma,  I'm  go  in'  to  get  you  a  copy  of  "  The 

117 


THE   LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

Angelas,"  '  and  I  says,  '  No,  child,  I  ain't  one  o'  the 
kind  that  has  to  have  a  picture  o'  the  folks  and  the 
things  they  love.  I've  got  that  picture  right  in  my  old 
brain,  and  all  I  have  to  do  to  see  it  is  jest  to  shut  my 
eyes  and  it'll  come  —  the  sunset  and  the  field  and  the 
two  people  prayin'  and  the  bell,  —  I'll  hear  that,  too, 
ringin'  jest  like  the  old  bell  that  used  to  ring  in  Goshen 
church.'  Every  day  I'd  go  into  the  parlor  at  Hen 
rietta's  about  the  time  the  sun'd  be  goin'  down,  and  I'd 
look  first  at  the  sunset  in  the  sky  and  then  at  the  sunset 
in  the  picture,  and  I  couldn't  tell  which  was  the 
prettiest. 

"  Uncle  Jim  Matthews  used  to  say  that  every  church 
bell  said,  '  Get  up,  get  up,  and  go  to  church ! '  And  in 
them  days  people  minded  the  church  bell.  But  nowa 
days  it  looks  like  the  only  bells  folks  pays  any  attention 
to  is  the  breakfast-bell  and  the  dinner-bell  and  the 
supper-bell.  And  I've  been  thinkin',  honey,  what  a 
blessed  thing  it  would  be,  if,  all  o  ver  the  world,  folks  could 
hear  a  bell  ringin'  at  sundown  and  callin'  on  everybody 
to  stop  their  work  or  their  pleasure  and  fold  their 
hands  for  a  minute  and  pray.  Why,  the  prayers  would 
go  up  to  heaven  like  the  birds  fly  in'  home  to  their 
nests,  and  jest  think  how  many  wrong  things  would 

JL18 


AUNT     JANE     GOES    A  -  VISITING 

be  stopped.  If  a  murderer  was  liftin'  his  hand,  that 
bell  would  be  like  a  voice  from  the  sky,  sayin',  '  Thou 
shalt  not  kill.'  If  a  husband  and  wife  was  quarrelin', 
and  they  heard  the  Angelus,  and  stopped  to  pray, 
why,  maybe,  after  they'd  prayed  they'd  kiss  and  make 
up.  Yes,  child,  the  Angelus  would  do  a  heap  o'  good. 
But  if  anybody's  once  looked  at  the  picture,  they  won't 
need  the  bell.  I  know  I'll  never  see  the  sun  settin' 
behind  them  knobs  over  yonder  that  I  won't  think  o' 
that  picture,  and  whatever  I'm  doin'  I'll  have  to  stop 
and  fold  my  hands  and  bow  my  head,  the  same  as  I 
used  to  do  when  Parson  Page'd  stand  up  in  the  old 
Goshen  church  and  say,  *  Let  us  pray.' 

"  Here's  a  picture  o'  Henrietta's  house,  child.  I 
knew  I  couldn't  tell  folks  about  it  so's  they'd  have  any 
idea  o'  what  it  was,  so  I  brought  this  picture."  And 
she  handed  me  a  photograph  of  one  of  those  modern 
palaces  which,  under  the  spells  of  the  two  master 
magicians,  Art  and  Wealth,  are  springing  up  on  the 
soil  of  the  New  South  to  replace  the  worn-out  mansions 
of  ante-bellum  days. 

"  When  I  looked  at  Henrietta's  house,"  continued 
Aunt  Jane,  "  I  thought  o'  what  Uncle  Billy  Bascom 
used  to  say.  Uncle  Billy's  the  kind  that  can't  enjoy 

119 


THE   LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

this  world  for  thinkin'  about  the  next  one.  He's  spent 
his  life  preparin'  for  death,  and  it  looks  like  it  hurts 
him  to  see  anybody  gittin'  any  pleasure  out  o'  the  things 
o*  this  world.  Every  time  any  o'  the  Goshen  folks'd 
put  up  a  house  that  was  a  little  bit  better  than  what 
Uncle  Billy'd  been  used  to,  he'd  shake  his  head  and  say, 
*  Yes,  Lord;  folks  can  make  theirselves  so  comfortable 
here  on  this  earth  that  they  won't  have  a  thought  about 
gittin'  a  clear  title  to  a  mansion  in  the  skies.' 

"  And  that  house  o'  Henrietta's  was  enough  to  make 
anybody  forget  about  their  mansion  in  the  skies. 
Henrietta's  havin'  her  heaven  now,  and  she'll  have  it 
hereafter,  and  Archibald,  too.  For  the  '  cares  o'  the 
world  and  the  deceitfulness  o'  riches  '  hasn't  choked 
any  o'  the  good  seed  that's  been  sown  in  their  hearts. 
How  many  young  folks  do  you  reckon  would  think 
o'  comin'  down  here  and  takin'  a  old  woman  like  me 
home  with  'em,  and  treatin'  her  like  a  queen,  and 
showin'  her  all  the  sights  in  a  place  like  Lexin'ton  ? 

"  Archibald  named  'em  all  over  to  me,  and  Henrietta 
says,  '  Now  where  do  you  want  to  go  first,  grandma  ?  ' 
And  I  says :  *  I  want  to  see  Henry  Clay's  house.  Take 
me  there  first,  and  I  don't  care  whether  I  see  any  o' 
the  rest  o'  the  sights  or  not.'  So  the  next  day  Henrietta 

120 


AUNT     JANE     GOES     A -VISITING 

took  me  to  Ashland,  the  place  where  Henry  Clay  had 
lived,  and  I  saw  the  bed  he  slept  in  and  the  table  he 
wrote  on  and  the  inkstand  and  the  pen  he  used.  And  I 
says  to  myself,  '  I'm  in  Henry  Clay's  home.  Henry 
Clay !  —  the  man  I  used  to  hear  my  father  talk  about 
when  I  was  a  young  gyirl  —  the  man  that'd  rather  be 
in  the  right  than  to  be  President.'  And  I  ricollected  the 
time  Henry  Clay  spoke  in  town  and  father  went  to  hear 
him,  and  when  he  got  back  home,  mother  asked  him 
what  kind  of  a  man  Henry  Clay  was.  And  father  says, 
says  he, '  Henry  Clay  ain't  a  man'  ;  and  mother  laughed 
(she  was  used  to  father's  way  o'  talkin'),  and  says  she, 
'  Well,  if  he  ain't  a  man,  what  is  he  ?  '  And  father 
studied  a  minute,  and  then  he  says,  *  Do  you  ricollect 
the  tongues  o'  fire  that  descended  on  the  apostles  on 
the  day  of  Pentecost  ?  '  Says  he,  '  If  one  o'  them 
tongues  o'  fire  was  put  in  the  body  of  a  man,  that'd 
be  Henry  Clay.'  Says  he,  *  He  stands  up  and  runs  his 
eye  over  the  crowd,  and  from  that  minute  he's  got 
every  man  there  right  in  the  holler  of  his  hand,  and  he 
does  jest  what  he  pleases  with  'em;  and  if  he  looks  any 
particular  man  in  the  face,  that  man'll  feel  like  he's 
in  the  presence  of  his  Maker.' 

"  Father  never  got  over  Clay  not  bein'  President; 
121 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

and  whenever  anybody'd  talk  about  it,  he'd  shake  his 
head  and  say,  *  There's  somethin'  wrong  with  the 
times  when  a  man  like  Henry  Clay  can't  git  the  Presi 
dency.' 

"  Now,  here  I  am,  child,  'way  back  in  Henry  Clay's 
time,  when  I  set  out  to  tell  you  about  my  visit  to  Hen 
rietta's.  That  wanderin'  o'  the  mind  is  a  pretty  good 
sign  of  old  age,  I  reckon,  but  I  'most  always  manage  to 
ricollect  where  I  started  from  and  where  I'm  goin' 
to. 

"  Well,  as  soon  as  I  got  to  feelin'  at  home  Henrietta 
says,  '  Now,  grandma,  I'm  goin'  to  give  you  a  reception 
and  introduce  you  to  my  friends.'  And  I  says :  '  Honey, 
you'd  better  not  do  that.  You  know  I'm  jest  a  old- 
fashioned  woman,  and  maybe  I  wouldn't  know  how  to 
behave  at  a  reception.'  And  Henrietta  laughed,  and 
says  she,  *  All  in  the  world  you  have  to  do,  grandma,  is 
to  shake  hands  with  the  people  and  be  glad  to  see 
'em.' 

"  And,  sure  enough,  it  was  jest  that  way.  Every 
body  was  smilin'  and  sayin'  they  was  glad  to  see  me, 
and  that  reception  was  pretty  much  like  shakin'  hands 
with  your  neighbors  after  prayer-meetin'  and  church, 
only  there  was  more  of  'em. 

122 


AUNT     JANE     GOES    A -VISITING 

"'  I  started  to  wear  my  black  alpaca  to  the  reception, 
but  Henrietta  says,  *  No,  grandma,  I've  had  a  dress 
made  especially  for  you.'  Jest  wait  a  minute,  honey, 
and  111  get  that  dress." 

And  when  she  appeared  a  moment  later  her  face  wore 
the  radiant  look  of  a  girl  who  displays  her  first  party 
costume,  or  a  bride  her  wedding-gown.  Over  her  arm 
hung  the  reception  gown  of  soft,  black  China  silk,  with 
plain  full  skirt  and  shirred  waist.  There  were  ruffles 
of  point  lace  in  the  full  sleeves,  and  she  held  up  the 
point-lace  cap  and  fichu  that  completed  the  costume. 

' "  To  think  o'  me  wearin'  such  clothes,"  said  Aunt 
Jane  exultingly.  "  And  the  curious  part  of  it  was,  child, 
that  I  hadn't  had  these  things  on  five  minutes,  till  I 
felt  like  they  belonged  to  me,  and  it  seemed  as  if  I'd 
been  wearin'  lace  and  silk  all  my  life.  And  Henrietta 
stood  off  and  looked  at  me,  and  says  she,  '  Grandma, 
you  look  exactly  like  a  family  portrait.'  And  when 
Archibald  come  home  after  the  reception,  he  says,  says 
he,  '  We  ought  to  have  grandma's  picture  painted  in 
that  dress.'  And  Henrietta  says,  '  Yes;  and  I  want 
another  picture  of  grandma  in  her  old  purple  calico 
dress  and  gingham  apron,  settin'  in  that  old  high-back 
rockin '-chair  with  one  of  her  patchwork  quilts  over  her 

123 


THE   LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

lap.'  Says  she,  *  That's  the  way  I  remember  seein' 
grandma  when  I  was  a  little  gyirl,  and  that's  the  way 
/  want  her  picture  taken.'  ' 

She  paused  to  shake  out  the  lustrous  silk  and  spread 
the  fichu  over  it  that  I  might  see  the  delicate  pattern 
of  the  lace. 

"  I  started  to  leave  this  dress  at  Henrietta's,"  she 
observed,  "  for  I  knew  I  wouldn't  have  use  for  such 
clothes  as  these  down  here  on  the  farm,  but  Henrietta 
folded  'em  up  and  put  'em  in  my  trunk,  and  she  said  I 
had  to  wear  'em  every  Sunday  evenin'  and  sit  out 
on  the  porch  and  think  about  her  and  Archibald.  And 
then,  child,  when  I  die  they  can  bury  me  in  this  dress." 
And  her  cheerful  smile  told  me  that  if  death  had  held 
any  terrors  for  Aunt  Jane,  those  terrors  would  be  largely 
assuaged  by  the  thought  of  going  to  her  long  rest  in 
point  lace  and  silk.  Nigh  on  to  eighty  years,  "  but  yet 
a  woman ! " 

"  Now  what  was  the  next  thing  I  went  to  ?  Oh, 
yes!  the  Brownin'  Club.  Two  or  three  days  after  the 
reception,  Henrietta  says  to  me,  '  Grandma,  the 
Brownin'  Club  meets  with  me  this  evenin',  and  I  want 
you  to  put  on  your  silk  dress  and  come  down  to  the 
parlor  and  listen  to  our  papers.'  And  she  told  me  who 

124 


AUNT     JANE     GOES    A  -  VISITING 

Brown  in'  was,  and  said  she  was  go  in'  to  read  a  paper 
on  his  home  life. 

"  Well,  I  thought  to  myself  that  there  wasn't  much 
hope  o'  me  understandin'  anything  I'd  hear  at  that 
Brownin'  Club,  but  of  course  I  was  glad  to  dress  up 
again  in  my  silk  dress  and  my  lace*  and  to  please  Hen 
rietta  I  went  down  into  the  parlor  and  listened  to  the 
readin'.  First,  a  young  lady  read  a  paper  about  the 
'  Message  of  Brownin'.'  She  said  every  poet  had  a 
message  to  g^ve  to  the  world  jest  like  the  prophets  in 
Old-Testament  times,  and  I  gethered  from  her  paper 
that  Brownin'  was  a  man  that  always  looked  on  the 
bright  side  and  believed  that  things  was  goin'  to  come 
right  in  the  end;  and  towards  the  last  she  read 
some  mighty  pretty  verses.  I  wish  I  could  ricollect 
'em  all.  It  was  somethin'  about  the  spring  o'  the  year 
and  the  mornin'  and  the  dew  like  pearls  and  the  birds 
flyin'.  The  words  was  jest  like  a  picture  of  a  spring 
mornin',  and  the  last  of  it  was,  '  God's  in  his  heaven  — 
all's  right  with  the  world!  '  That's  jest  as  true  as  any 
thing  in  the  Bible,  and  it  sounds  like  it  might  'a'  come 
out  o'  the  Bible,  don't  it,  child  ? 

"  Then  another  lady  read  some  o'  Brownin 's  poetry, 
'  Pary —  '  somethin'  or  other." 

125 


THE   LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

"  Paracelsus,"  I  suggested. 

"That's  it,"  said  Aunt  Jane,  "but  I  ain't  a  bit 
wiser  than  I  was  before,  for  I  never  did  find  out  whether 
that  was  the  name  of  a  man  or  a  woman  or  a  town  or 
a  river  or  what.  I  set  and  listened,  and  every  now  and 
then  it'd  seem  like  there  was  somethin'  that  I  could 
understand,  but  before  I  could  lay  hold  of  it  here'd 
come  a  lot  o'  big  words  that  I  never  heard  tell  of  before, 
and, I  declare  to  goodness,  my  old  brains  got  tired  tryin' 
to  git  some  sense  out  o'  that  poetry.  Why,  it  was  jest 
like  tryin'  to  read  at  night  by  the  light  o'  the  fire.  The 
fire '11  blaze  up,  and  you'll  see  everything  plain  for  a 
minute,  and  then  it'll  die  down,  and  there  you  are  in  the 
dark  again. 

"  Well,  when  the  lady  got  through  readin'  the 
poetry,  she  said  she  was  go  in'  to  read  her  interpre 
tation  of  it.  I  ricollected  how  Joseph  interpreted 
Pharaoh's  dream  and  Daniel  interpreted  Nebuchad 
nezzar's  dream,  and  I  says  to  myself,  '  Now,  I'll  find 
out  all  about  it.'  But  bless  your  life,  child,  the  poetry 
was  hard  enough  to  understand,  but  the  interpretation 
was  a  heap  harder;  and  I  says  to  myself,  '  Brownin's 
poetry  never  was  intended  for  a  old  woman  like  me.' 
And  I  jest  leaned  back  in  my  chair  and  looked  at  the 

126 


AUNT    JANE     GOES    A  -  VISITING 

hats  and  the  bonnets  the  ladies  had  on.  Pretty  clothes 
always  was  one  o'  my  weak  points,  and  will  be  till  I 
die,  I  reckon.  When  I  was  a  child  father  used  to 
question  us  children  about  the  sermon  when  we  got 
home  from  church.  I  never  could  tell  much  about  it, 
except  the  text,  and  I  ricollect  hear  in'  mother  say  to 
him  one  Sunday,  '  If  Jane  could  jest  remember  as  much 
about  the  sermon  as  she  remembers  about  the  hats 
and  bonnets,  we  could  have  her  ordained  to  preach.' 

"  There  was  one  hat  I  saw  at  the  Brownin'  Club 
that  I'll  ricollect  as  long  as  I  ricollect  '  The  Angelus.' 
It  was  made  out  o'  white  lace  and  trimmed  with  pink 
roses  that  made  me  think  o'  the  roses  hi  my  weddin'- 
bonnet,  only  they  was  buds  and  these  was  full-blown 
ones,  so  full-blown  that  it  looked  like  they  was  ready  to 
shatter  and  fall  if  the  wind  blew  on  'em,  and  so  natural 
you  could  almost  smell  'em.  I  declare,  that  hat  made 
me  wish  I  was  a  young  gyirl  again. 

"  Then  Henrietta  read  her  paper,  and  it  was  jest 
as  pretty  a  story  as  ever  I  listened  to;  about  him  fallin' 
in  love  with  that  sick  woman  that  hadn't  walked  a  step 
for  years,  and  how  he  married  her  against  her  father's 
will,  and  took  her  'way  off  to  Florence,  the  same  place 
where  Henrietta  and  Archibald  went  when  they  was 

127 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

in  Europe,  and  where  Henrietta  got  that  quilt  pattern 
for  me.  And  she  told  how  kind  he  was  to  her,  and  how 
he'd  git  up  in  the  mornin'  and  gether  roses  and  put  'em 
by  her  bed  so  they'd  be  the  first  things  she'd  look  at 
when  she  opened  her  eyes.  And  thinks  I  to  myself, 
*  Most  men  wants  a  woman  that  can  cook  for  'em  and 
sew  for  'em  and  clean  up  after  'em,  and  Brownin' 
must  'a'  been  a  mighty  good  man  to  marry  a  woman 
that  couldn't  do  anything  for  him  but  jest  love  him.' 
Somehow  I  can't  git  the  thought  o'  Brownin'  out  o' 
my  head.  He  must  'a'  been  mighty  different  from  the 
common  run  o'  men,  and  his  life  don't  need  interpretin' 
like  his  poetry  does. 

"  Maybe  you  wonder,  honey,  how  a  old  woman  like 
me  could  enjoy  bein'  at  a  Brownin'  Club,  and  I  reckon 
I  was  as  much  out  o'  place  as  mother's  old  spinnin'- 
wheel  that  Henrietta  had  in  one  corner  of  her  parlor 
along  with  all  that  fine  furniture  and  the  fine  things 
she'd  brought  from  Europe.  But,  then,  I  couldn't 
feel  a  bit  bad,  for  there  set  Henrietta,  my  child's  child; 
she  had  everything  I  hadn't  had,  and  I  jest  laughed 
to  myself,  and  thinks  I,  *  I'm  livin'  again  in  my  children 
and  my  grandchildren,  and  I  ain't  missed  a  thing.' ' 

Aunt  Jane  paused  for  breath  and  leaned  back  in  her 
128 


AUNT    JANE     GOES    A -VISITING 

chair,  smiling  and  smoothing  down  her  gingham  apron. 
I  waited  in  silence,  for  I  knew  that  the  near  memories 
of  her  visit  to  her  beloved  grandchild  were  as  vivid 
and  interesting  to  her  as  the  far  memories  of  girlhood 
and  young  womanhood,  and  the  tide  of  recollections 
would  soon  flow  again. 

"  Well,  the  next  thing  we  went  to  was  a  big  meetin' 
of  women  from  all  sorts  o'  clubs.  When  Henrietta  told 
me  what  it  was,  I  says  to  myself,  '  Now,  I'll  see  if  what 
Uncle  Billy  Bascom  told  me  is  the  truth  or  not.'  Uncle 
Billy'd  been  sent  up  to  the  legislature  twice  from  our 
district,  and  when  I  heard  he'd  been  elected  the  second 
time,  I  couldn't  help  thinkin'  about  what  Sam  Amos 
used  to  say,  that  when  folks  got  tired  seein'  a  man 
around  and  wanted  to  git  shed  of  him  a  while,  they 
always  sent  him  to  the  legislature.  That's  about  the 
way  it  was  with  Uncle  Billy. 

"  Me  and  Uncle  Billy  has  always  been  good  friends, 
and  after  he  got  back  home  he  come  around  to  see  me, 
and  when  we'd  shook  hands  and  inquired  about  each 
other's  health,  he  looked  me  right  in  the  face  and  says 
he,  '  Jane,  I've  been  to  Sodom  and  Gomorrah.'  And 
says  I, '  Uncle  Billy,  that's  about  the  hardest  thing  ever 
I  heard  said  about  a  Kentucky  legislature,  and  I've 

129 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

heard  some  pretty  hard  things  in  my  day  and  time.' 
And  says  he:  'No,  Jane;  you  misunderstand  me. 
I  ain't  referrin'  to  the  legislature;  the  legislature's  all 
right.'  Says  he:  *  We  set  sixty  days  and  drawed  our 
pay  regular,  and  we  passed  pretty  nigh  a  hundred  bills, 
and  might  'a'  passed  that  many  more  if  we'd  kept  on 
settin';  but  as  the  constitution  don't  permit  us  to  set 
longer,  why,  of  course,  we  had  to  adjourn  and  come 
on  home,  leavin'  a  good  deal  o'  business  unfinished. 
No,'  says  he,  '  it  ain't  the  legislature  I'm  talkin'  about, 
it's  the  women,  the  women.'  Says  he:  'There  was  a 
time  when  it  was  some  pleasure  for  a  man  to  go  up  to 
the  legislature.  Us  men,  we'd  git  together  and  resolute, 
and  debate,  and  pass  our  bills,  and  everything'd  go  off 
as  smooth  as  satin.  Now  and  then  we  might  git  a 
disturbin'  sort  of  a  letter  from  some  o'  the  home  folks 
about  somethin'  we'd  been  doin'  that  didn't  suit  'em, 
a  dog-tax  or  somethin'  o'  that  sort,  but  they'd  be  too 
fur  to  worry  us  much.  But,'  says  he,  '  the  way  the 
women  has  got  to  carryin'  on,  if  it  wasn't  for  the  pay  and 
the  honor  o'  the  thing,  I'd  ruther  stay  right  here  on  my 
farm  than  to  go  up  yonder  to  Frankfort  and  rastle 
with  a  lot  o'  women  that's  strayed  so  far  from  the  foot 
steps  o'  their  mothers  and  grandmothers  that  nothin5 

130 


AUNT     JANE     GOES    A  -  VISITING 

but  a  miracle  could  bring  'em  back.'  Says  he:  'We 
could  hardly  pass  a  bill  in  any  peace  whatsoever,  for 
them  women.  If  we  set  out  to  give  a  little  money  to 
the  State  College,  why,  here'd  come  a  delegation  o' 
women  from  Lexin'ton  wantin'  to  know  whether  the 
gyirls  would  git  their  share  of  it.'  Says  he:  'There 
ain't  a  right  or  a  privilege  goin'  that  they  don't  want  to 
cut  it  half  in  two,  and  give  the  littlest  half  to  us  men 
and  keep  the  biggest  half  for  the  women;  some  of  'em 
even  goes  so  far  as  to  say  that  women  ought  to  vote. 
And,'  says  he,  '  they've  got  to  clubbin'  together,  and 
what  one  woman  can't  think  of ,  the  others  can;  and 
there  was  hardly  a  man  in  the  legislature  that  wasn't 
pestered  with  havin'  to  look  after  some  sort  o'  bill  that'd 
been  hatched  up  in  one  o'  these  here  clubs.  I  got  so 
outdone  with  'em,'  says  he,  '  that  whenever  a  bill'd 
come  up,  I'd  say  to  whoever  was  settin'  by  me,  "  Has 
the  women  got  anything  to  do  with  it  ?  "  And  if  they 
had,  I'd  vote  against  it,  and  if  they  hadn't,  I'd  vote 
for  it.  One  o'  their  bills,'  says  he,  '  sounded  mighty 
reasonable,  the  "  forestry  bill,"  they  called  it,  but  it 
never  come  up.'  Says  he,  '  We  had  a  little  redistricting 
to  do  for  the  benefit  o'  the  party,  and  made  a  few  new 
offices  jest  to  please  the  people,  and  betwixt  this  and 

131 


THE   LAND   OF  LONG   AGO 

that,'  says  he,  '  we  didn't  git  round  to  the  forestry 
bill.'  Says  he,  '  I  might  'a'  supported  that,  if  it  had 
come  up,  but  then  I  don't  know  but  what  after  all 
it'd  'a'  been  a  dangerous  sort  o'  thing.'  Says  he: 
'  The  more  you  give  a  woman  the  more  she  wants. 
We  give  women  their  property  rights,  and  now  they're 
wantin'  to  vote  and  to  manage  the  schools  and  the 
'sylums  and  pretty  near  everything  else.  And,'  says  he, 
'  if  we  was  to  pass  that  there  forestry  bill,  like  as  not 
the  first  thing  you  know,  a  man'd  have  to  git  a  permit 
from  some  o'  these  women's  clubs  before  he  could  chop 
a  piece  o'  kindlin'-wood  in  his  own  back  yard.' 

"  And  then  the  old  man  went  on  to  tell  how  he  went 
up  to  Lexin'ton  after  the  legislature  was  over,  and  that 
was  what  he  meant  by  goin'  to  Sodom  and  Gomorrah. 
Says  he,  '  There's  women  up  there,  Jane,  that  don't 
know  a  water-bucket  from  a  churn,  and  if  you  was  to 
show  'em  a  potater-patch  in  full  bloom,  they'd  think 
it  was  some  sort  of  a  flower-gyarden.'  Says  he,  '  The 
clubs  was  more  numerous  than  the  children,  and  it 
looks  to  me  like  the  race  is  dyin'  out,  dyin'  out,  Jane; 
and  maybe  it's  jest  as  well,'  says  he,  '  for  there  ain't 
any  women  nowadays  like  the  old-time  ones,  for  in 
stance,  my  mother  and  grandmother,'  says  he." 

132 


AUNT    JANE     GOES    A -VISITING 

Aunt  Jane  broke  off  with  a  laugh.  "  I  knew  as  soon 
as  he  started  out  that  he  was  comin'  to  his  mother  and 
grandmother.  Uncle  Billy  couldn't  talk  twenty  minutes 
with  anybody  without  tellin'  'em  how  his  mother  had 
fifteen  children,  and  cooked  and  sewed  and  washed  and 
ironed  for  'em  all,  and  how  his  grandmother  was  one 
o'  the  women  that  carried  water  at  Bryan's  Station, 
and  how  she  fought  a  wildcat  one  night  on  the  Wilder 
ness  Road  when  her  husband  was  away  killin'  some 
game  for  their  supper. 

"  Well,  I  went  to  this  club  meetin',  I  can't  ricollect 
jest  what  Henrietta  called  it,  but  it  seems  they  had  got 
together  to  tell  about  all  the  work  they'd  done  in  the 
past  year,  and  plan  out  their  next  year's  work. 

"  There  was  one  lady  I  took  particular  notice  of. 
I  thought  she  was  a  married  woman,  but  I  heard  'em 
callin'  her  *  Miss  Laura,'  and  I  found  out  afterwards 
that  she  was  an  old  maid.  In  my  day,  child,  you  could 
tell  an  old  maid  the  minute  you  set  eyes  on  her.  But 
nowadays  the  old  maids  and  the  married  women  looks 
about  alike,  and  one's  jest  as  happy  and  good  lookin* 
and  busy  and  well  contented  as  the  other,  and  folks 
seem  to  think  jest  as  much  of  the  old  maids  as  they  do 
of  the  married  women.  I  said  somethin'  o'  this  sort 

133 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

to  Henrietta,  and  she  laughed  and  says,  *  Yes,  grandma; 
the  old  maids  nowadays  have  their  hands  so  full 
lookin'  after  the  rights  o'  the  married  women  and 
the  little  children  that  they  don't  have  time  to  grow 
old  or  worry  about  not  bein'  married,  and  of  course,' 
says  she,  '  we  can't  help  lovin'  'em  and  lookin'  up  to 
'em  when  they're  so  good  and  so  useful.' 

"  But,  as  I  was  sayin',  this  Miss  Laura  told  how  her 
club  had  worked  for  ten  years  to  git  married  women 
their  rights,  so's  a  married  woman  could  own  her  own 
property  and  manage  it  to  suit  herself  and  have  the 
spendin'  of  her  own  wages  while  she  lived  and  make  a 
will  when  she  come  to  die.  And  that  made  me  think 
o'  Sally  Ann's  experience  and  pore  'Lizabeth.  And  Miss 
Laura  says,  '  But  there's  one  right  still  that  a  married 
woman  hasn't  got,  and  that  is  the  right  to  her  own 
children.'  And  she  told  how  the  law  give  the  father  a 
right  to  take  a  child  away  from  its  mother  and  carry 
it  off  whenever  he  pleased,  and  bring  it  up  as  he  pleased 
and  app'int  its  guardians.  And  she  told  how  many 
times  they'd  been  to  the  legislature  to  git  the  law 
changed,  and  said  they'd  have  to  keep  on  goin'  till 
they  got  this  right  for  mothers,  jest  like  they'd  got 
property  rights  for  wives.  And  I  thought  of  Uncle 

134 


AUNT    JANE     GOES    A -VISITING 

Billy's  grandmother,  and  says  I  to  myself:  *  Don't 
you  reckon  a  legislature's  jest  as  terrifyin'  to  a  woman 
as  wildcats  and  Indians?  Ain't  these  women  got  jest 
as  much  courage  as  their  grandmothers  ?  ' 

"  One  lady  got  up  and  told  what  they  was  doin* 
to  keep  the  fine  trees  from  bein'  all  cut  down,  jest  like 
Uncle  Billy  said,  and  that  reminded  me  of  Abram. 
A  tree  was  like  a  brother  to  Abram.  He  was  always 
plantin'  trees,  but  I  never  knew  him  to  cut  one  down 
unless  it  was  dyin'  or  dead.  You  see  that  big  sugar- 
maple  out  yonder  by  the  fence,  child?  Well,  right 
beside  it  there  used  to  be  a  big  silver  poplar.  There 
ain't  a  prettier  tree  in  the  world  than  the  silver  poplar. 
It's  pretty  in  the  sunshine  and  it's  still  prettier  by 
night,  if  the  moon's  shinin';  and  when  the  wind's 
blowin',  why,  I  can  sit  and  look  at  that  tree  by  the 
hour.  But  it's  got  a  bad  way  o'  sproutin'  from  the 
root,  and  the  young  trees  come  up  everywhere  and 
crowd  out  everything  else,  jest  like  people  that  ain't  con 
tent  with  their  own  land  and  always  covetin'  other  folks' 
farms.  Well,  I  got  so  tired  o'  choppin'  down  the  young 
sprouts  every  spring  and  summer  that  I  told  Abram 
that  tree  had  to  go,  and,  besides,  it  was  sp'ilin'  the  shape 
o'  the  young  sugar-maple  right  by  it.  I  reckon  Abram 

135 


THE   LAND    OF   LONG   AGO 

had  got  tired,  too,  hearin'  me  quarrel  about  the  sprouts 
comin'  up  in  my  flower-beds,  so  he  went  out  to  the 
wood-shed  and  got  his  ax.  He  stopped  a  minute  on 
the  front  porch  and  looked  up  at  the  tree,  and  jest  then 
a  little  breeze  sprung  up  and  every  leaf  blew  wrong 
side  out.  And  Abram  laid  down  his  ax  and  says  he: 
'  Jane,  I  can't  do  it.  I'll  cut  the  sprouts  down,  but 
don't  ask  me  to  cut  down  a  tree  that  looks  that  way 
when  the  wind  blows.'  And  the  old  poplar  stood, 
honey,  till  it  was  struck  by  lightnin'  one  summer,  and 
died  at  the  top.  Then  Abram  was  willin'  to  have  it 
cut  down. 

"  What  was  I  talkin'  about,  honey  ?  Oh,  yes ;  them 
women's  clubs.  Well,  I  set  there  listenin'  to  'em  tellin' 
how  their  clubs  had  worked  for  this  thing  and  that, 
and  how  hard  it  was  to  git  men  to  see  things  the  way 
they  saw  'em,  and  it  come  over  me  all  at  once  that  they 
was  contendin'  with  the  same  sort  o'  troubles  us  women 
down  in  Goshen  had  when  we  got  our  organ  and  our 
cyarpet  for  the  church.  I  ricollect  when  we  was  talkin' 
about  the  cyarpet  Sihas  Petty  says:  'What's  the  use 
o'  havin'  that  cyarpet?  Hasn't  this  church  got  along 
fifteen  years  with  jest  these  good  pine  boards  under 
foot?'  And  Sally  Ann  says:  'Yes;  you  men  folks 

136 


AUNT    JANE     GOES    A  -  VISITING 

think  that  because  things  has  always  been  thus  and  so, 
they've  always  got  to  be.  But,'  says  she,  '  I've  noticed 
that  when  a  thing  always  has  been,  most  likely  it's  a 
thing  that  ought  never  to  'a'  been.'  And  from  what  I 
could  gether,  listenin'  to  the  ladies  read  their  papers, 
there  was  the  same  old  trouble  betwixt  the  clubs  and 
the  legislatures  that  there  used  to  be  down  in  Goshen 
church,  the  women  wantin'  to  go  on,  and  the  men  pullin' 
back  and  standin'  still. 

"  And  one  lady  told  about  Emperor  William  over 
yonder  in  Germany  sayin'  that  women  oughtn't  to  do 
anything  but  cook  and  go  to  church  and  nurse  the 
children,  and  says  I,  *  That's  Silas  Petty  over  again.' 
And  then  she  went  on  to  tell  how  some  o'  the  men 
was  findin'  fault  with  women  because  families  wasn't 
as  large  as  they  was  in  their  great-grandmothers'  day. 
And  thinks  I  to  myself, '  That's  jest  like  old  man  Bob 
Crawford.' 

"  Well,  one  after  another  they'd  stand  up  and  tell 
about  all  the  good  works  their  clubs  had  done,  sendin' 
books  to  the  mountain  people,  tryin'  to  make  better 
schools  for  the  children,  and  havin'  laws  made  to  keep 
women  and  little  children  from  bein'  worked  to  death 
in  factories  and  mills,  and  I  declare,  child,  it  reminded 

137 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

me  more  of  an  old-fashioned  experience  meetin'  than 
anything  I  could  think  of,  and  says  I  to  myself:  '  Why, 
Uncle  Billy's  all  wrong.  This  ain't  Sodom  and  Go 
morrah;  it's  the  comin'  of  the  kingdom  of  God  on  earth.' 
And  when  the  meetin'  was  about  to  break,  Henrietta 
got  up  and  says,  '  Grandma,  the  ladies  want  you  to 
make  them  a  speech';  and  I  jest  laughed  right  out  and 
says  I:  '  Why,  honey,  I  can't  make  a  speech.  Whoever 
heard  of  a  old  woman  like  me  makin'  a  speech  ?  ' 

"  And  Henrietta  says,  '  Well,  tell  us,  grandma,  what 
you've  been  thinkin'  about  us  and  about  our  work 
while  you've  been  sittin'  here  listenin'  to  us  talk.'  And 
I  says,  *  Well,  if  that's  makin'  a  speech,  I  can  make  one, 
for  I'm  always  thinkin'  somethin',  and  thinkin'  and 
talkin'  is  mighty  near  kin  with  me.'  Says  I,  '  One  thing 
I've  been  thinkin'  is,  that  I'm  like  the  old  timber  in 
the  woods  —  long  past  my  prime  and  ready  to  be  cut 
down,  and  you  all  are  the  young  trees  strikin'  your  roots 
down  and  spreadin'  your  branches  and  askin'  for  room 
to  grow  in.'  And  says  I,  '  What  I  think  about  you 
ain't  likely  to  be  of  much  importance.  I'm  jest  a 
plain,  old-fashioned  woman.  The  only  sort  o'  club 
I  ever  belonged  to  was  the  Mite  Society  o'  Goshen 
church,  and  the  only  service  I  ever  did  the  State  was 

138 


AUNT     JANE     GOES     A -VISITING 

raisin'  a  family  o'  sons  and  daughters,  five  sons  and 
four  daughters.'  Says  I,  '  There's  some  folks  that 
thinks  women  ought  to  do  jest  what  their  mothers  and 
grandmothers  did,  but,'  says  I,  *  every  generation  has 
its  work.  I've  done  mine  and  you're  doin'  yours.  And,' 
says  I,  '  I  look  at  you  ladies  sittin'  here  in  your  pretty 
parlors  and  your  fine  clothes,  and  back  of  every  one 
of  you  I  can  see  your  grandmothers  and  your  great- 
grandmothers,  jest  plain  hard-workin'  women  like  me. 
But,'  says  I,  '  there  ain't  much  difference  between  you, 
after  all,  except  the  difference  in  the  clothes  and  the 
manners.  Your  grandmothers  traveled  their  Wilder 
ness  Road,  and  you're  travelin'  yours,  and  one's  as  hard 
as  the  other.  And,'  says  I,  '  if  I  was  in  your  place,  I 
wouldn't  pay  a  bit  of  attention  to  what  the  men  folks 
said  about  me.  Suppose  you  don't  have  as  many 
children  as  your  grandmothers  had;  I  can  tell  by 
lookin'  at  your  faces  that  you're  good  wives  and  good 
mothers;  you  love  the  three  or  four  children  you've 
got  as  well  as  your  grandmothers  loved  their  twelve 
or  fifteen,  and  that's  the  main  p'int  —  the  way  you  love 
your  children,  not  how  many  children  you  have.  And 
further  than  that,'  says  I,  '  there's  such  a  thing  nowa 
days  as  a  woman  havin'  so  many  children  that  she 

139 


THE   LAND    OF   LONG   AGO 

hasn't  got  time  to  be  a  mother,  but  that's  a  p'int  that 
men  don't  consider.  And,'  says  I,  '  when  I  think  of 
all  the  good  work  you've  done  and  all  you're  go  in'  to 
do,  I  feel  like  praisin'  God.  For  I  know  you're  helpin' 
this  old  world  and  this  old  State  to  go  on  like  the  apostle 
said  we  ought  to  go,  "  from  glory  to  glory." 

"  And  bless  your  life,"  laughed  Aunt  Jane,  "  if 
they  didn't  clap  their  hands  like  they  never  would  stop, 
and  one  lady  come  over  and  kissed  me,  and  says, 
'  That's  the  best  speech  I  ever  heard  at  a  woman's 
club/ 

"  And  I  reckon,"  concluded  Aunt  Jane  with  a  gay 
laugh,  "  that  if  Uncle  Billy  happened  to  hear  about  me 
speakin'  at  a  woman's  club,  he'd  think  that  Sodom  and 
Gomorrah  was  spreadin'  clear  down  into  the  Goshen 
neighborhood." 

"  How  would  you  like  to  live  with  Henrietta,  Aunt 
Jane  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Child,  child,"  said  Aunt  Jane  with  a  reproving 
shake  of  her  head,  "  you  know  better  than  to  ask  such 
a  question.  That  visit  to  Henrietta's  was  like  climbin' 
a  hill  that  you've  lived  on  the  other  side  of  all  your  life. 
I've  been  to  the  top  o'  the  hill  and  seen  what's  on  the 
other  side,  and  I've  come  back  to  my  own  place. 

140 


AUNT    JANE     GOES    A -VISITING 

Solomon  says  there's  a  time  for  everything,  and  I  don't 
need  any  Solomon  to  tell  me  that  there's  a  place  for 
everybody;  and  this  old  house  and  this  old  farm  is 
the  only  place  that  could  ever  be  home  to  me,  and  I'm 
here  to  stay  till  they  carry  me  out  through  that  gate 
yonder  and  lay  my  bones  over  in  the  old  bury  in  '- 
ground  alongside  of  Abram's  and  the  children's  and 
the  rest  of  them  that's  gone  before  me." 


141 


THE  MARRIAGE  PROBLEM 
IN  GOSHEN 


THE    MABRIAGE    PROBLEM    IN    GOSHEN 

AUNT    JANE    folded    the    country    newspaper 
that  she  had  been  reading  and  laid  it  on  the 
family  Bible  at  her  elbow.    Her  face  was  grave,  and 
she  sighed  as  she  took  up  her  knitting. 

"  I  sometimes  think,  honey,"  she  said,  in  answer  to 
my  look  of  inquiry,  '*  that  if  I  want  to  keep  my  faith 
in  God  and  man  I'll  have  to  quit  readin'  the  news- 

145 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

papers.  I  try  to  believe  that  everything's  goin'  on  all 
right  with  the  world  and  that  whatever  happens  is  for 
the  best,  but  I  can't  open  a  paper  without  readin'  about 
some  husband  and  wife  that's  parted  from  each  other, 
and  that  looks  like  there's  somethin'  mighty  wrong 
with  this  day  and  time.  Me  and  Uncle  Billy  Bascom 
was  talkin'  about  it  last  week,  and  Uncle  Billy  says, 
'  If  folks'd  only  forsake  their  sins  as  easy  as  they  forsake 
their  husbands  and  their  wives  nowadays,  this'd  be  a 
sanctified  world.' 

"  No,  child,  the  partin'  of  husbands  and  wives  is 
one  new-fangled  way  I  can't  git  used  to.  Why,  as  far 
back  as  I  can  ricollect  there  never  was  but  one  woman 
in  the  Goshen  neighborhood  that  left  her  husband,  and 
that  was  Emmeline  Amos,  that  married  Henry  Sanford. 
Emmeline  was  a  first  cousin  to  Sam  Amos.  Sam's 
father  was  Jeremiah  Amos,  and  Emmeline 's  father  was 
Middleton  Amos.  Emmeline  was  a  pretty  little  thing, 
and  sweet-tempered  and  smart  about  work,  but  her 
mother  used  to  say  that  Emmeline  had  a  mind  like  a 
piece  o'  changeable  silk.  She'd  want  a  thing,  and  she 
wouldn't  rest  till  she  got  it,  and  the  minute  she  got 
it  she'd  fall  out  with  it  and  want  somethin'  else.  If 
she  went  to  town  and  bought  a  blue  dress,  before  she 

146 


MARRIAGE     PROBLEM     IN     GOSHEN 

got  to  the  toll-gate  she'd  want  to  turn  back  and  buy  a 
pink  one,  and  about  the  only  thing  she  was  constant 
in  wantin'  was  Henry. 

"  They'd  been  sweethearts  more  or  less  all  their  lives, 
and  it  was  a  settled  thing  that  they  expected  to  be 
married  as  soon  as  Henry  got  his  farm  paid  for.  But 
before  the  day  was  set,  the  war  broke  out  and  Henry 
enlisted.  It  went  mighty  hard  with  him  to  leave 
Emmeline,  but  a  man  that  stayed  out  o'  the  army 
for  the  sake  of  a  gyirl  didn't  stand  much  chance  with 
the  gyirl  or  anybody  else  them  days.  Him  and  Emme 
line  wanted  to  be  married  before  he  went,  but  the  old 
folks  said  no.  Emmeline 's  mother  says,  '  This'll  give 
Emmeline  a  chance  to  know  her  own  mind  and  change 
it  —  if  she's  goin'  to  change  it  —  before  it's  too  late. 
If  Henry  comes  back,  well  and  good;  and  if  he  don't 
come  back,  it'll  be  all  the  better  for  Emmeline  that  she 
didn't  marry  him,  for,'  says  she,  '  a  young  gyirl's 
chances  o'  gittin'  married  are  better  than  a  widder's.' 

"  So  Henry  went,  and  Emmeline  stayed  and  waited 
for  him  good  and  faithful.  Towards  the  end  of  the 
war  —  I  don't  ricollect  what  battle  it  was  —  Henry 
got  shot  in  the  shoulder,  and  after  stayin'  some  time 
in  the  hospittle  he  managed  to  come  back  home  more 

147 


THE   LAND    OF   LONG   AGO 

dead  than  alive,  and  it  was  many  a  week  before  he  was 
strong  enough  to  be  married.  As  soon  as  he  was  able 
to  be  up  and  walk  around  a  little  he  begun  to  talk  about 
marryin',  and  they  said  old  lady  Sanford  took  a  lookin'- 
glass  down  from  the  wall  and  held  it  up  before  him  and 
says  she,  '  Son,  look  at  yourself.  Do  you  think  you 
can  make  a  bridegroom  out  of  a  skeleton  ?  '  And  says 
she,  *  Son,  there's  jest  two  people  in  the  world  that 
wouldn't  run  from  you  if  they  saw  you  now,  and  one 
of  'em's  your  mother  and  the  other's  the  undertaker.' 
Says  she,  *  Wait  till  you  look  like  a  human  bein',  and 
then  it'll  be  time  to  set  the  weddin'  day  and  bake  the 
weddin'  cake.' 

"  Well,  finally,  along  in  the  fall,  they  got  married,  and 
settled  down  to  housekeepin'  as  happy  as  you  please. 
Emmeline  was  a  mighty  neat,  orderly  sort  of  a  gyirl,  and 
she  went  to  work  puttin'  things  to  rights  and  makin' 
the  house  look  homelike,  and  one  mornin'  she  con 
cluded  she'd  straighten  out  Henry's  trunk.  I've  heard 
her  tell  about  it  many  a  time.  She  said  Henry  had  his 
outside  clothes  all  mixed  up  and  his  neckties  and  his 
socks  scattered  around  all  through  the  trunk,  and  she 
was  foldin'  things  and  stackin'  'em  up  together  and 
singin'  '  Flow  Gently,  Sweet  Afton/  and  all  at  once  she 

148 


. 


G.  PATRICK  NELSON 


"  '  ONE  MORNING  SHE  CONCLUDED  SHE'D  STRAIGHTEN 
OUT  HENRY'S  TRUNK.'  " 

Paste  148. 


MARRIAGE     PROBLEM     IN     GOSHEN 

come  across  a  little  silk  shirt.  She  said  for  a  minute  or 
so  she  couldn't  take  it  in,  and  when  she  did,  she  dropped 
the  shirt  like  it  had  been  a  rattlesnake,  and  she  got  so 
weak  and  faint  she  had  to  sit  down  on  the  side  o'  the 
bed.  She  said  she  didn't  know  how  long  she  set  there 
lookin'  at  the  shirt  and  thinkin'  terrible  things  about 
Henry  and  makin'  up  her  mind  what  she'd  say  and  do, 
when  Henry  come  in  from  the  field.  She  said  she 
knew  she  ought  to  be  cookin'  dinner,  and  she  went  down 
in  the  kitchen  and  tried  to,  but  to  save  her  life  she 
couldn't,  her  hands  trembled  so,  and  she  couldn't 
keep  her  mind  on  what  she  was  tryin'  to  do.  So  she 
went  back  up-stairs  and  set  down  by  the  trunk  and 
waited.  And  when  Henry  come  in  and  didn't  see  her  in 
the  kitchen  and  no  signs  of  dinner  anywhere,  he  come 
runnin'  up-stairs  to  find  her  and  started  to  put  his  arms 
around  her  and  kiss  her,  but  she  pushed  him  off  with 
both  hands.  And  says  he,  '  Why,  Emmeline,  what  on 
earth's  the  matter  ?  '  And  she  said  she  tried  to  answer 
him,  but  her  voice  wouldn't  come,  and  she  jest  p'inted 
to  the  shirt  lyin'  on  the  floor. 

"At  first  Henry  didn't  understand;  but  he  looked 
at  the  shirt  and  he  looked  at  her  face,  and  then  he  burst 
out  laughin',  and  says  he,  *  Well,  that  does  look  pretty 

149 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

bad,  sure  enough;  but  I  know  you've  got  too  much 
confidence  in  me  to  let  a  little  thing  like  that  worry  you*  ; 
and  he  tried  to  take  hold  of  her  hand,  but  she  jerked 
it  away,  and  by  that  time  she  was  so  mad  at  him  for 
laughin'  at  her  that  she  didn't  find  any  trouble  about 
talkin',  and  the  madder  she  got  and  the  more  she 
talked,  the  harder  Henry  laughed,  and  says  he :  *  Oh ! 
come  now,  Emmeline.  You  mustn't  be  so  hard  on  a 
man.  I  never  loved  that  woman  like  I  love  you.  I 
never  was  married  to  her,  and  I  never  wanted  to 
marry  her.  Ain't  that  enough  to  satisfy  you  ?  ' 

"  Emmeline  said  she  didn't  know  she  could  feel  so 
wicked;  but  when  Henry  said  that,  she  felt  as  if  she 
wanted  to  kill  somebody  —  she  didn't  know  whether 
it  was  Henry  or  the  other  woman  —  and  she  jumped 
up  and  run  out  o'  the  room,  slammin'  the  door  behind 
her  as  hard  as  she  could,  and  locked  herself  in  the  spare 
bedroom.  She  said  Henry  went  down-stairs,  and  she 
could  hear  him  goin'  around  in  the  kitchen  and  pantry 
lookin'  for  cold  meat  and  bread,  and  she  looked  out 
o'  the  window  and  watched  till  she  saw  him  go  back  to 
the  field.  And  the  minute  he  was  out  o'  sight,  she 
packed  her  trunk  and  went  to  the  stable  and  saddled 
the  mare  her  father  had  made  her  a  present  of  when 

150 


MARRIAGE     PROBLEM     IN     GOSHEN 

she  married,  and  then  she  dressed  herself  and  wrote 
a  note  sayin'  she'd  gone  back  to  her  father's  house  and 
she'd  send  over  for  her  trunk  the  next  day.  She 
pinned  the  note  to  Henry's  piller,  and  then  she  got  on 
her  horse  and  started  for  home. 

"  Old  man  Middleton  was  sittin'  on  the  front  porch 
smokin'  his  pipe  when  Emmeline  rode  up,  and  he 
hollered  out  to  his  wife  that  here  was  Emmeline,  and 
they  both  come  runnin'  out  to  meet  her.  You  know 
how  it  is  with  the  old  folks,  when  a  gyirl  comes  home 
to  make  'em  a  visit  after  gittin'  married.  They're 
proud  of  her  for  marryin'  well,  but  they've  been  missin' 
her  and  they're  mighty  glad  to  have  her  back  in  her  old 
place.  But  as  soon  as  they'd  hugged  her  and  kissed  her 
they  both  said,  '  Where's  Henry  ?  '  and,  '  Why  didn't 
he  come  with  you  ?  '  Emmeline  said  for  a  minute 
she  wished  she  was  back  at  home,  for  she  knew  how 
bad  they'd  feel  when  she  told  'em  what  she  had  to  tell. 
But  she  thought  she  might  as  well  have  it  over  and  be 
done  with  it,  and  says  she, '  Henry's  at  home,  and  I'm 
at  home,  too.  I've  left  him,  and  I'm  never  goin'  back 
to  him.' 

"  Well,  Emmeline  said  they  both  fell  back  on  the 
porch  steps  like  they'd  been  shot,  and  as  soon  as  they 

151 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

could  speak  they  both  said :  *  Left  him !  What  for  ?  * 
Emmeline  said  she  felt  so  ashamed  of  Henry  she'd  made 
up  her  mind  from  the  first  that  nobody  ever  should 
know  about  that  little  silk  shirt.  So  she  says,  '  I've 
found  out  that  Henry's  not  the  man  I  thought  he  was. 
I've  left  him  for  good  and  all.'  And  old  man  Middle- 
ton  says,  '  Why,  daughter,  what's  he  done  amiss  ? 
I've  known  Henry  from  a  boy  up,  and  there  ain't 
a  man  in  the  county  I'd  rather  have  for  a  son-in-law.' 
And  Emmeline  says,  '  Yes,  I  used  to  think  that  way 
myself,  but  I've  found  out  different.'  And  the  old  man 
says,  *  Has  he  struck  you  or  mistreated  you  in  any  way  ? 
He's  been  too  well  brought  up  for  that.  He  ain't 
close-fisted  about  money  matters,  I  know,  for  I've  had 
dealin's  with  him  myself,  and,  besides,  you  ain't  been 
married  to  him  long  enough  to  have  to  call  on  him  for 
anything.'  And  Emmeline  says,  *  No,  he's  as  free 
handed  as  he  can  be,  and  I've  got  nothin'  to  complain 
about  except  that  I  didn't  know  him  as  well  as  I  do 
now,  and  since  I  know  him,  why,  I  don't  want  to  live 
with  him.' 

"  And  then  her  mother  begun  questionin',  and  all 
she  could  git  out  of  Emmeline  was  that  Henry  wasn't 
the  man  she  thought  he  was;  and  at  last  the  old  lady 

152 


MARRIAGE  PROBLEM  IN  GOSHEN 

lost  her  patience  and  says  she,  *  In  the  name  o'  peace ! 
Have  I  got  a  child  with  so  little  sense  as  to  think  that 
that's  any  reason  for  leavin'  a  man  ?  Of  course  he 
ain't  the  man  you  thought  he  was,  and  you  ain't  the 
woman  he  thought  you  was.  But  what  o'  that?  If 
husbands  and  wives  took  to  partin'  on  that  account, 
the  world  would  be  full  o'  grass-widders  and  grass- 
widderers.'  Says  she,  '  You're  welcome  to  stay  here  till 
Henry  comes  for  you,  and  I'll  give  out  to  the  neighbors 
that  you're  makin'  us  a  visit,  but  back  to  Henry  you've 
got  to  go.  Gittin'  married,'  says  she,  '  is  like  buyin' 
a  piece  o'  dress-goods  at  the  store.  As  long  as  you 
haven't  had  it  cut  off  the  bolt,  you  can  change  your 
mind,  but  if  it's  once  cut  off,  you've  got  to  pay  for  it 
and  take  it  home  and  make  the  best  o'  your  bargain.' 
Says  she,  '  You  had  plenty  o'  time  to  find  out  what 
'  sort  o'  man  Henry  was,  and  you  turned  your  back  on 
two  good  chances  whilst  you  waited  for  him,  and  now 
there's  no  slippin'  out  o'  the  trade.  I  don't  propose 
to  have  any  widders  in  my  family,'  says  she,  *  except 
the  sort  that  can  put  up  a  tombstone  and  wear  a  black 
veil.'  Says  she,  '  Take  off  your  bonnet  and  make  your 
self  at  home  till  Henry  comes  for  you.' 

**  And,  bless  your  life,  Henry  wasn't  long  comin', 
153 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

either.  Before  they  got  the  supper  dishes  washed  up, 
here  he  come  as  fast  as  his  horse  could  bring  him. 
Old  man  Amos  went  out  to  meet  him  and  took  him 
around  to  the  side  o'  the  house  and  says  he,  '  Son,  I 
want  you  to  tell  me  what  all  this  to-do  is,  anyhow.  I 
can't  git  head  nor  tail  of  it  from  Emmeline.'  And  Henry 
says,  *  Well,  Father  Amos,  it's  this  way.  Emmeline's 
been  goin'  through  my  trunk,  and  she  found  a  little 
somethin'  or  other  that  belonged  to  another  woman 
that  I  used  to  know  long  before  I  knew  her,  and  that's 
what  upset  her.'  And  the  old  man  shook  his  head 
and  says  he,  '  You  ought  to  'a'  destroyed  all  such  things 
before  you  married;  and  that  was  a  mighty  keerless 
trick,  leavin'  your  trunk  unlocked,  though  two  to  one 
Emmeline  would  'a'  got  into  it  anyway.  It's  my  belief,' 
says  he,  '  that  women  carry  skeleton  keys  to  keep  the 
run  o'  their  husband's  private  affairs.'  And  Henry 
says,  '  I've  done  all  I  could  to  pacify  her;  I've  told  her 
I  never  loved  that  woman  like  I  love  her  and  never  was 
married  to  the  woman  and  never  wanted  to  marry  her, 
and  what  more  can  a  man  say  ?  '  And  the  old  man  says, 
*  Well,  that  ought  to  satisfy  any  reasonable  woman,  but 
in  matters  like  this  women  don't  seem  to  be  able  to  use 
their  reason.'  Says  he,  '  It  looks  like  they  expect 

154 


MARRIAGE     PROBLEM     IN     GOSHEN 

a  man  to  be  jest  like  Adam  before  Eve  was  made  for 
him,'  and  says  he,  *  You'll  have  to  hoe  your  own  row 
with  Emmeline  in  this  affair,  and  her  mother  and  me '11 
help  you  all  we  can.' 

"  Well,  all  three  of  'em  argued  with  Emmeline, 
tryin'  to  persuade  her  to  go  back  home,  but  nothin' 
they  could  say  had  any  effect  on  her.  And  finally 
Henry  says,  *  Well,  Emmeline,  if  you  will  leave  me,  I 
reckon  I'll  have  to  put  up  with  it,  but  I've  got  jest  one 
favor  to  ask  of  you.'  Says  he,  '  You  know  how  my 
mother  and  father  have  set  their  hearts  on  havin'  you 
for  a  daughter-in-law  and  how  anxious  they  are  to  see 
you.  Now,  all  I  ask  of  you  is  to  let  me  take  you  to  see 
my  folks,  and  you  make  'em  a  visit.  If  I  was  to  write 
to  my  mother,'  says  he,  *  that  my  wife  had  left  me,  I 
believe  it  would  be  the  death  of  her.  She's  subject  to 
spells  anyway,  and  the  doctor  says  any  little  shock'll 
carry  her  off.  So  you  let  me  take  you  up  to  mother's, 
and  you  make  her  and  father  a  little  visit,  and  then 
I'll  bring  you  home  and  try  to  break  it  to  mother  the 
best  I  can.' 

"  Emmeline  thought  a  minute,  and  finally  she  says, 
*  Well,  I'll  go  for  your  mother's  sake,  but  not  for  yours.' 
So  Henry,  he  went  back  home  to  git  somebody  to  look 

155 


THE   LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

after  his  stock  while  he  was  gone,  and  the  next  day 
he  come  for  Emmeline,  and  they  started  to  his  mother's. 
It  was  pretty  near  a  day's  journey,  and  there  couldn't 
'a'  been  a  nicer  trip  for  a  bride  and  groom,  ridin' 
through  the  woods  and  over  the  hills  about  the  middle 
of  October,  the  leaves  jest  turnin'  and  the  weather 
neither  hot  nor  cold.  I  reckon,  child,  you  don't  know 
what  it  is  to  make  a  journey  that  way.  That's  one  o' 
the  things  folks  miss  by  bein'  born  nowadays  instead 
of  in  the  old  times  before  there  was  any  railroads.  I 
ricollect  when  they  begun  puttin'  down  the  track  for 
the  first  railroad  in  this  county.  Uncle  Jimmy  Judson 
went  to  town  on  purpose  to  see  what  it  was  like,  and 
some  o'  the  town  folks  explained  all  about  layin'  the 
ties  and  the  rails  and  showed  him  a  picture  o'  the 
cyars  and  the  locomotive,  and  Uncle  Jimmy  looked  at 
it  a  minute  or  two,  and  then  he  shook  his  head  and  says 
he,  *  None  o'  that  sort  o'  travelin'  for  me  —  shut  up 
in  a  wooden  box  with  a  steam-engine  in  front  liable 
to  blow  up  any  minute,  and  nothin'  but  the  mercy  o' 
God  to  keep  them  wheels  from  runnin'  off  this  here 
narrer  railin'.'  Says  he,  '  Give  me  a  clear  sky  over 
head,  a  good  road  underfoot,  good  company  by  my  side, 
and  my  old  buggy  and  my  old  mare,  and  I  can  travel 

156 


MARRIAGE     PROBLEM     IN     GOSHEN 

from  sunup  to  sundown  and  ask  no  odds  o'  the  rail 
road.'  And  I  reckon  most  old  people  feel  pretty  much 
like  Uncle  Jimmy. 

"  I  ricollect  Parson  Page  sayin'  once  that  the  Chris 
tian's  life  was  a  journey  to  heaven,  and  Sam  Amos  says, 
'  Yes,  and  generally  when  I  start  out  to  go  to  a  place,  I 
want  to  get  there  as  soon  as  possible;  but  here's  one 
time,'  says  he,  *  when  I  wouldn't  care  if  I  never  got  to 
my  journey's  end.'  And  that's  the  way  it  was  with  me 
when  me  and  Abram'd  start  out  in  our  old  rockaway 
for  a  day's  travel  through  the  country,  goin'  to  see  his 
mother  or  mine.  No  matter  how  much  I  wanted  to  see 
the  folks  I  was  goin'  to,  I'd  feel  as  if  I  could  keep  on 
forever  ridin'  through  the  thick  woods  or  along  the  open 
road,  the  wind  blowin'  in  my  face  and  the  sun  gittin' 
higher  and  higher  towards  noon  and  then  night  comin' 
on  before  we'd  be  at  our  journey's  end. 

"  I've  heard  Emmeline  laugh  many  a  time  about  that 
ride.  Her  mother  come  out  to  the  gate  and  put  a  basket 
o'  lunch  under  the  seat,  and  says  she,  '  Now,  Emmeline, 
you  be  a  good  gyirl  and  don't  give  Henry  any  more 
trouble,  and,  Henry,  when  you  two  come  back  you 
take  Emmeline  right  home  with  you;  don't  you  bring 
her  here.'  And  old  man  Amos  give  a  big  laugh  and  says 

157 


THE   LAND    OF   LONG   AGO 

he,  *  Come  back  home  If  you  want  to,  Emmeline.  My 
door's  always  open  to  my  own  children;  but  if  you 
come,  Henry's  got  to  come,  too,  so  either  way  you  fix 
it  there  won't  be  any  partin'.'  Emmeline  said  she 
wouldn't  let  Henry  help  her  in  the  buggy.  She  got  in 
on  one  side,  and  he  got  in  on  the  other,  and  she  set 
as  far  off  from  him  as  she  could,  and  they  started  off, 
old  lady  Amos  callin'  after  'em:  '  You  jest  remember, 
Emmeline,  as  long  as  Henry's  above  the  sod  you're 
Henry's  wife.  There's  only  one  thing  that  can  part 
you,  and  that's  death.' 

"  Well,  Emmeline  said  Henry  was  as  nice  and  polite 
as  you  please  all  that  day.  He  talked  about  the  weather 
and  the  birds  and  the  trees  and  the  flowers,  and  p'inted 
out  things  along  the  way,  but  she  never  opened  her 
mouth  till  dinner-time.  They  stopped  by  a  spring  to 
eat  their  dinner,  and  Henry  watered  the  horse  and  fixed 
the  check-rein  so's  he  could  graze,  and  then  he  set 
down  some  little  distance  away  from  her,  and  she 
opened  the  basket.  She  said  of  course  she  couldn't 
be  mean  enough  to  sit  there  and  eat  by  herself,  so  she 
told  him  to  come  and  have  some  dinner.  And  he  come 
over  and  set  down  beside  her,  and  she  waited  on  him, 
and  they  drank  put  o'  the  same  cup,  and  Emmeline 

158 


MARRIAGE     PROBLEM    IN     GOSHEN 

said  you  could  hear  the  spring  drippin'  and  the  birds 
and  the  squirrels  chirpin'  and  chatterin'  in  the  trees; 
and  every  now  and  then  a  pretty  leaf'd  come  flutterin* 
down  and  fall  in  the  spring  or  on  her  lap,  and  Henry 
talked  so  kind  and  pleasant  that  Emmeline  said  she 
got  to  thinkin'  how  happy  she'd  be  if  it  wasn't  for  that 
little  silk  shirt,  and  she'd  'a'  give  anything  she  had 
if  she'd  jest  kept  out  o'  Henry's  trunk.  And  when 
they'd  got  through  eatin',  Henry  took  hold  of  her  hand 
and  says  he,  *  Emmeline,  can't  you  trust  me  a  little  bit  ?  ' 
And  she  jerked  away  from  him  and  begun  getherin' 
up  the  provisions  and  foldin'  the  napkins.  And  Henry 
says,  *  Well,  pretty  soon  we'll  be  at  mother's.  Maybe 
she  can  set  matters  right.'  And  they  got  in  the  buggy 
and  started  again,  and  Emmeline  said  the  nearer  they 
got  to  Henry's  home  the  worse  she  felt,  and  finally 
she  broke  down  and  begun  to  cry,  and  she  cried  for 
three  miles  right  straight  along. 

"  It  was  about  sunset,  and  Henry  kept  tellin'  her  to 
cheer  up  and  look  at  the  pretty  clouds  and  the  light 
comin'  through  the  red-and-yeller  sugar-maples  and 
the  beech-trees.  She  said  he  was  mighty  cheerful 
himself,  and  it  made  her  mad  to  see  how  easy  he  was 
takin'  it.  When  they  got  within  sight  o'  the  house  Henry 

159 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

says,  '  Now  dry  your  eyes,  Emmeline,  or  mother'll 
think  you  ain't  glad  to  see  her.  She  goin'  to  be  mighty 
glad  to  see  you.'  Old  man  Sanford  and  his  wife,  honey, 
was  a  couple  that  thought  more  o'  their  daughters-in- 
law  than  they  did  o'  their  own  children.  They'd  had 
nine  sons  and  never  had  a  gyirl-child,  and  they'd  always 
wanted  one,  and  the  old  man  used  to  look  at  the  boys 
and  say,  *  Well,  your  mother  and  me  didn't  want  this 
many  boys,  but  you  children  would  be  boys,  and  now 
you've  got  to  make  up  for  the  disapp'intment  you've 
been  to  your  parents  by  bringin'  us  in  some  nice,  pretty 
daughters-in-law.'  And  every  time  one  o'  the  boys 
got  married  the  old  man,  he'd  say,  *  Well,  my  daughters 
are  comin'  at  last,'  and  the  old  lady  used  to  say  that 
her  daughters-in-law  paid  her  for  all  the  trouble  her 
sons  had  been  to  her. 

"  It  was  milkin'-time  when  they  drove  in  at  the  big 
gate,  and  the  old  lady  was  jest  startin'  out  with  her  quart 
cup  and  her  bucket.  Henry  hollered,  '  Howdy, 
mother! '  and  she  dropped  the  milk  things  and  run  to 
meet  'em,  and  Emmeline  said  she  never  had  such  a 
welcome  in  her  life.  The  old  lady  didn't  take  any 
notice  o'  Henry.  She  jest  hugged  and  kissed  Emmeline 
and  pretty  near  carried  her  into  the  house.  Then  she 

160 


MARRIAGE     PROBLEM     IN     GOSHEN 

took  notice  of  how  Emmeline  had  been  cryin',  and  she 
turned  around  to  Henry  and  says  she,  '  Henry  Sanford, 
what  have  you  been  do  in'  to  this  poor  child  to  make  her 
cry  ?  It  speaks  mighty  poorly  of  you  to  have  your  wife 
cryin'  this  soon  in  your  married  life.'  And  Henry 
put  his  hand  in  his  coat  pocket  and  pulled  out  a  little 
bundle  and  handed  it  to  his  mother  and  says  he, 
'  Mother,  I  want  you  to  tell  Emmeline  whose  this 
is.'  And  the  old  lady  opened  the  bundle  and  says  she, 
'  Henry  Sanford,  what  do  you  mean  by  pokin'  this  old 
shirt  at  me  when  I  want  to  be  makin'  the  acquaintance 
o'  my  new  daughter-in-law  ?  '  And  Henry  says,  '  If 
you'll  tell  Emmeline  all  about  this  shirt,  mother,  it'll 
stop  her  cryin'.'  Emmeline  said  the  old  lady  put  on 
her  specs  and  looked  at  'em  both  as  if  she  thought  they 
might  be  losin'  their  senses  and  says  she,  '  Well, 
honey,  I  don't  see  what  this  old  shirt  has  to  do  with 
your  cryin',  but  I  can  mighty  soon  tell  you  about  it. 
It's  one  of  a  half  a  dozen  that  Henry's  father  didn't 
have  any  better  sense  than  to  buy  five  or  six  years  ago 
when  he  was  layin'  in  a  stock  o'  summer  goods.  (  "  Old 
man  Sanford  run  a  country  store,  child,  along  with  his 
farmin',"  interpolated  Aunt  Jane.)  And,'  says  she, 
'  after  they'd  stayed  in  the  store  three  or  four  seasons 

161 


THE   LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

I  took  'em  and  wore  'em  to  keep  'em  from  bein'  a  dead 
loss.  And  when  Henry  come  out  o'  the  army  he  was 
half  naked  and  more'n  half  dead,  betwixt  the  Yankees 
and  the  chills  and  fever,  and  I  put  these  shirts  on  him 
to  protect  his  chest.' 

"  Well,  Emmeline  said  as  soon  as  the  old  lady  begun 
talkin',  her  heart  got  as  light  as  a  feather,  and  she  felt 
like  a  thousand  pounds  had  been  lifted  off  of  her  mind. 
But  she  said  she  looked  around  at  Henry,  and  he  was 
watchin'  to  see  how  she'd  take  it,  and  all  at  once  he 
burst  out  laughin',  and  that  made  her  mad  again,  and 
she  thought  about  all  the  trouble  she'd  been  through, 
and  she  begun  cryin'  again  and  says  she,  '  Oh!  why 
didn't  you  tell  me  that  ?  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  ?  ' 
Emmeline  said  Henry's  mother  come  over  and  put  her 
arms  around  her  and  says  she,  '  Henry  Sanford,  what 
prank  have  you  been  playin'  on  your  wife?  Tell  me 
this  minute.'  And  Henry  begun  explainin'  things  and 
tryin'  to  smooth  it  over,  and  I  reckon  he  thought  his 
mother'd  see  the  joke  jest  like  he  did,  but  she  didn't. 
She  looked  at  Henry  over  her  spectacles  mighty  stern 
and  says  she,  '  Henry,  I've  always  been  afeard  you 
didn't  have  your  full  share  o'  punishment  whilst  you 
were  growin'  up,  bein'  the  youngest  child,  and  if  it 

162 


MARRIAGE     PROBLEM     IN     GOSHEN 

wasn't  that  you're  a  married  man  I'd  certainly  give  you 
one  o'  the  whippin's  you  missed  when  you  were  a  boy.' 
And  Henry  says,  '  Well,  maybe  I  ought  to  be  punished 
for  not  tellin'  Emmeline,  but  I  jest  thought  I'd  play  a 
joke  on  her,  and  if  Emmeline  had  only  had  a  little 
confidence  in  me  it  wouldn't  'a'  worried  her  the  way 
it  did.'  And  old  lady  Sanford,  she  says,  '  Confidence! 
Confidence!  There's  jest  one  person  I  put  my  con 
fidence  in,  and  that's  Almighty  God.'  Says  she,  '  If 
a  man's  crippled  in  both  feet,  and  the  front  door  and 
the  back  door's  locked,  and  I've  got  both  my  eyes  on 
him,  I  may  make  out  to  trust  him  a  minute  or  two, 
but  that's  about  all.'  Says  she,  *  Of  course  a  woman 
ought  to  trust  her  husband;  but  that  don't  mean  that 
she's  got  to  shut  her  eyes  and  her  ears  and  throw  away 
her  common  sense.'  Says  she,  '  Emmeline  don't  know 
as  much  about  you  as  your  father  knows  about  that 
old  roan  mare  he  bought  day  before  yesterday.  A 
man's  jest  like  a  horse,'  says  she;  *  you've  got  to  break 
him  in  and  learn  all  his  gaits  and  tricks  before  there's 
any  safety  or  pleasure  travelin'  with  him.  Here  you 
ain't  been  married  to  Emmeline  a  month  yet,  and  you 
talk  about  her  havin'  confidence  in  you ! '  Says  she, 
'  I've  been  married  to  your  father  forty-five  years  this 

163 


THE   LAND    OF   LONG   AGO 

comin'  January,  and  I've  never  seen  cause  to  doubt 
him,  but  if  I  was  to  find  another  woman's  gyarment 
amongst  his  clothes  I'd  leave  him  that  quick.' 

"  And  about  this  time  old  man  Sanford  come  in, 
and  when  he'd  shook  hands  with  Henry  and  hugged  and 
kissed  Emmeline  he  begun  to  take  notice  of  how  she'd 
been  cry  in',  and  the  old  lady  she  told  him  the  whole 
story,  and,  bless  your  life,  the  old  man  was  madder'n 
she  was.  He  turned  around  to  Henry  and  says  he, 
mighty  stern  and  solemn,  '  Son,  I  feel  that  you've 
disgraced  your  raisin'.'  Says  he,  '  A  man  that'll 
cause  a  woman  to  shed  an  unnecessary  tear  is  worse 'n 
a  brute,  and  here  you've  let  Emmeline  cry  her  pretty 
eyes  out  over  nothin'  right  at  the  beginnin'  of  her 
married  life.  If  you  treat  her  this  way  now,  how'll 
it  be  ten  years  from  now  ?  '  And  then  he  patted  Emme 
line  on  the  shoulder  and  says  he,  '  Never  mind, 
daughter,  if  Henry  don't  treat  you  right,  you  stay  here 
with  pappy  and  mammy  and  be  their  little  gyirl.  Henry 
always  was  the  black  sheep  o'  the  flock,  anyhow.' 

"  And  at  that  Emmeline  jumped  up  and  run  over  to 
Henry  and  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck  and  says 
she,  *  You  sha'n't  talk  that  way  about  Henry.  He's 
not  a  black  sheep,  either.  He's  the  best  man  in  the 

164 


MARRIAGE     PROBLEM     IN      GOSHEN 

world,  and  it's  all  my  fault  and  I'll  never  mistrust  him 
again  as  long  as  I  live.'  And  then  Henry  broke  down 
and  cried,  and  the  old  man  and  the  old  lady  they  cried, 
and  they  all  hugged  and  kissed  each  other,  and  such  a 
makin'  up  you  never  did  see.  And  in  two  or  three  days 
here  Henry  and  Emmeline  come  ridin'  back  home  and 
lookin'  like  a  sure-enough  bride  and  groom.  Emmeline 
said  they  went  over  the  same  road,  but  everything 
seemed  different;  the  birds  sung  sweeter,  the  sun  shone 
brighter,  and  the  leaves  were  prettier,  for  you  know, 
honey,  the' way  a  thing  looks  depends  more  on  people's 
minds  than  it  does  on  their  eyes.  They  stopped  at  the 
same  spring  to  eat  their  dinner,  and  Emmeline  said  she 
promised  Henry  she'd  never  mistrust  him  again,  and 
he  promised  her  he'd  never  play  any  more  jokes  on  her. 
I  reckon  they  both  must  'a'  kept  their  promise,  for 
from  that  time  on  there  never  was  a  more  peaceable, 
well-contented  married  couple  than  Emmeline  and 
Henry.  Emmeline  used  to  say  that  she  did  all  her 
cryin'  durin'  her  honeymoon  and  Henry'd  never  caused 
her  to  shed  a  tear  since. 

"  Nobody  ever  would  'a'  known  about  her  findin' 
the  shirt  and  leavin'  her  husband  if  she  hadn't  told  it 
herself,  for  the  old  folks  on  both  sides  felt  so  ashamed 

165 


THE   LAND    OF   LONG   AGO 

o'  Henry  and  Emmeline  for  the  way  they'd  acted  that 
they  never  would  'a'  told  it.  But  Emmeline  told  Milly 
Amos  and  Milly  told  Sam,  and  the  first  thing  you  knew 
everybody  in  Goshen  was  laughin'  over  Emmeline 
leavin'  her  husband,  and  everybody  was  disputin' 
about  which  was  in  the  right  and  which  was  in  the 
wrong.  I  ricollect  Sam  Amos  sayin'  that  any  woman 
that  went  rummagin'  around  in  a  man's  trunk  deserved 
to  find  trouble,  and  his  sympathies  was  all  with  Henry; 
and  Milly  said  Henry  ought  to  'a'  told  Emmeline  whose 
shirt  it  was  and  not  kept  her  grievin'  and  worryin'  all 
that  time.  And  Sam  says,  '  Yes,  he  ought  to  'a'  told 
her,  but  if  he  had  'a'  told  her  it  wouldn't  'a'  helped 
matters,  for  she  wasn't  in  a  frame  o'  mind  to  believe 
him.'  Says  he,  '  You  women  are  always  suspicionin' 
a  man,  and  if  you  come  across  a  piece  of  circumstantial 
evidence  you'll  convict  him  on  that  and  hang  him  in 
spite  of  all  he  can  say  for  himself.' 

"  I  ricollect  our  Mite  Society  got  to  talkin'  one  day 
about  husbands  and  wives  leavin'  each  other,  and 
whether  it  was  ever  right  or  lawful  for  married  folks 
to  part  and  marry  again.  Maria  Petty  says,  says  she, 
'  There's  some  things  that  every  woman's  called  on  to 
stand,  and  there's  some  things  that  no  woman  ought 

166 


MARRIAGE     PROBLEM     IN      GOSHEN 

to  stand.'  And  Sally  Ann  says,  '  Yes,  and  as  long  as 
you  women  think  you  have  to  stand  things,  you'll  have 
things  to  stand.'  And  Milly  Amos  says,  '  A  husband 
and  a  wife  can  part  when  there's  no  children,  but,' 
says  she,  '  if  they've  had  children,  you  might  put  the 
husband  on  one  side  o'  the  world  and  the  wife  on  the 
other  and  they're  husband  and  wife  still,  for  there's  the 
children  holdin'  'em  together.'  I  ricollect  everybody 
had  a  different  opinion,  and  the  longer  we  talked  the 
further  we  got  from  any  sort  of  agreement  about  it." 

And  as  it  was  in  Goshen  so  was  it  in  Athens  when 
Plato  wrote  and  taught,  and  so  it  is  to-day  wherever 
human  wisdom  offers  its  varying  solutions  to  this 
problem  of  the  ages. 

"  What  do  you  think  about  it,  Aunt  Jane  ? "  I 
asked. 

Aunt  Jane  was  silent.  Intuitively  she  felt  the  magni 
tude  of  the  question.  We  had  laughed  over  the  comedy 
of  her  story,  but  its  rustic  scenery  had  shifted,  and  we 
were  standing  now  in  the  tragic  presence  of  a  social 
sphinx  whose  mystery  calls  for  baffled  silence  rather 
than  confident  speech. 

"  Well,  honey,"  she  said  at  last,  thoughtfully  and 
hesitatingly,  "  if  folks  could  only  love  each  other  the 

167 


THE   LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

way  me  and  Abram  did,  they'll  never  want  to  part; 
and  of  course  if  they  love  each  other  they'll  trust  each 
other;  and  if  the  love  and  the  trust  runs  short,  why, 
then  they  ought  to  be  patient  and  try  to  bear  with  each 
other's  failin's.  But,  as  Maria  Petty  used  to  say, 
there's  some  things  that  no  woman  is  called  on  to  bear, 
and  no  man,  either,  for  that  matter,  and  if  married  folks 
feel  that  they  can't  stand  livin'  together  I  ain't  the  one 
to  judge  'em,  for  I  never  had  anything  to  stand,  and 
happy  folks  oughtn't  to  judge  the  folks  that's  unhappy. 
It  does  look  like  to  me  that  if  the  husbands  and  wives 
in  Groshen  could  stay  married  anybody  could,  but 
maybe  I  don't  know.  And  when  a  person  gits  all 
twisted  and  turned  so's  they  can't  tell  what's  right  and 
what's  wrong,  why,  it  ain't  time  for  passin'  judgment 
and  givin'  opinions,  and  I  reckon  I'll  jest  have  to  fall 
back  on  that  text  o'  Scripture  that  says  all  things  are 
workin'  together  for  good.  Not  some  things,  honey, 
but  'all  things.'  Did  you  ever  think  o'  that?  The 
things  you  want  and  the  things  you  don't  want;  the 
things  you  complain  about  and  the  things  you  rejoice 
about;  the  things  you  laugh  over  and  the  things  you 
cry  over  —  all  of  'em  workin',  not  against  each  other, 
but  together,  and  all  workin'  for  good.  I  ricollect 

168 


MARRIAGE     PROBLEM    IN     GOSHEN 

hearin'  a  sermon  once  on  that  very  passage  o'  Scripture. 
The  preacher  said  that  that  text  was  like  a  sea  without 
a  shore;  its  meanin'  was  as  wide  and  as  deep  as  the 
love  of  God,  and  if  we  could  only  take  it  in  and  believe 
it,  we'd  never  have  any  fears  or  any  misgivin's  again. 
And  then,  there's  that  verse  o'  Brownin's  that  says 
God's  in  his  heaven  and  everything's  right  with  the 
world.  So  I  reckon,  in  spite  of  all  this  marryin'  and 
partin'  and  marryin'  again,  the  world's  in  safe  hands 
and  movin'  on  in  the  right  way." 

Aunt  Jane  was  smiling  now,  for  on  these  winged 
words  of  apostle  and  poet  her  soul  had  risen  into  its 
native  atmosphere  of  serene  faith,  casting  upon  the 
shoulders  of  Omnipotence  the  burden  of  world-sorrow 
and  world-sin  that  only  Omnipotence  can  lift  and  bear. 


169 


VI 

AN   EYE    FOR   AN    EYE 


VI 


AN    EYE    FOR   AN    EYE 

IT  was  the  time  of  the  blooming  of  the  wistaria. 
Over  in  fair  Japan  the  imperial  purple  clusters 
were  drooping  over  the  roofs  of  the  tea-gardens  and 
the  walls  of  the  Emperor's  palace,  and  here  in  Aunt 
Jane's  garden  they  hung  from  the  rickety  trellis 
that  barely  supported  the  weight  of  the  royal 
flowers. 

Aunt  Jane  gazed  at  them  with  worshipful  eyes. 
"  It's  been  fifty  years  this  spring,"  she  said,  "  since 
173 


THE   LAND    OF  LONG   AGO 

I  planted  that  vine.  It  took  it  five  years  to  come  into 
bloomin',  so  I've  seen  it  bloom  forty-five  times;  and 
every  time  I  see  it,  it  looks  prettier  to  me.  I  took  a 
root  of  it  along  with  me  when  I  went  to  Lexin'ton  to 
visit  Henrietta,  and  the  gyardener  planted  it  by  the 
front  porch  so's  it  could  run  up  the  big  pillars  —  that's 
the  difference  betwixt  my  gyarden  and  Henrietta's. 
She  has  a  gyardener  to  plant  her  flowers,  and  I  do  my 
own  plantin'.  I  can't  help  believin'  that  I  have  more 
pleasure  out  o'  my  old-fashioned  gyarden  than  she 
has  out  o'  her  fine  new  one.  Flowers  that  somebody 
else  plants  and  'tends  to  are  jest  like  children  that  some 
body  else  nurses  and  raises.  I  raise  my  flowers  like  I 
raised  my  children,  and  I  reckon  that  that's  why  I  love 
'em  so.  It's  a  curious  thing,  child,  the  hold  that 
flowers  and  trees  has  on  human  bein's.  You  can 
move  into  a  house  and  set  up  your  furniture  and  live 
there  twenty  years,  and  as  long  as  you  don't  do  any 
plantin',  you  won't  mind  changin'  your  house  any 
more'n  you'd  mind  changin'  your  dress.  But  you 
jest  plant  a  rose-bush  or  a  honey-suckle  and  then 
start  to  move,  and  it'll  look  like  every  root  o'  that 
bush  is  holdin'  you  to  the  place,  and  if  you  go,  you'll 
want  to  take  your  flowers  with  you  jest  like  grand- 

174 


"  IT   WAS   THE   TIME    OF  THE    BLOOMING    OF   THE   WISTARIA  " 
Paye  173. 


AN     EYE     FOR    AN     EYE 

mother  took  her  rose  when  she  moved  from  old  Vir 
ginia  to  new  Kentucky." 

She  paused  to  look  again  at  the  splendor  of  grace 
and  color  that  spring  had  brought  to  the  old  garden. 
No  wonder  we  have  patience  to  tread  the  ice-bound 
path  through  the  winter  when  we  know  that  things 
like  this  lie  at  the  end.  A  delicate,  reverent  wind 
arose,  the  long,  rich  tassels  of  bloom  yielded  them 
selves  to  its  touch  and  swayed  to  and  fro  like  majesty 
acknowledging  homage,  while,  bolder  than  the  wind,  a 
mob  of  democratic  bees  hummed  nonchalantly  in 
the  august  presence  and  gathered  honey  as  if  a  wistaria 
were  no  more  than  a  country  clover  field. 

"  Henrietta  was  tellin'  me,"  continued  Aunt  Jane, 
"  that  over  yonder  in  Japan  when  the  cherry  trees 
and  this  vine  blooms,  everybody  takes  a  holiday 
and  turns  out  and  enjoys  the  flowers  and  the  sunshine, 
and  I  says  to  Henrietta,  '  That's  no  new  thing  to  me, 
honey,  I've  been  doin'  that  all  my  life.'  I  like  house- 
keepin'  as  well  as  anybody,  but  when  spring  comes  and 
the  flowers  begin  bloomin',  a  house  can't  hold  me. 
There's  one  time  o'  the  year  about  the  middle  o' 
May,  when  it's  all  I  can  do  to  keep  myself  inside  the 
house  long  enough  to  do  the  cookin'  and  wash  the 

175 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

dishes.  I  ricollect  the  first  spring  after  I  was  married 
there  was  one  day  when  Abram  said  that  he  had 
bread  and  butter  and  pinks  for  breakfast,  and  bread 
and  butter  and  roses  for  dinner,  and  bread  and  butter 
and  honeysuckles  for  supper.  You  know  the  Bible 
says,  *  Let  your  moderation  be  known  unto  all  men,' 
and  I  always  tried  to  be  moderate  about  housekeepin'. 
Sam  Amos  used  to  say  that  women  kept  house  for 
two  reasons :  one  was  to  please  themselves  and  the  other 
was  to  displease  the  men.  Says  he,  '  The  Bible  says 
we  come  from  the  dirt  and  we're  goin'  back  to  the 
dirt,  so  why  can't  we  live  in  the  dirt  and  say  nothin' 
about  it  ?  '  Says  he,  *  Give  me  three  meals  a  day 
and  a  comfortable  place  to  sleep  in,  and  let  me  be 
able  to  lay  my  hands  on  my  clothes  when  I  want  'em, 
and  that's  housekeepin'  enough  for  me.'  I  reckon 
most  men's  pretty  much  like  Sam;  and  seein'  how 
little  a  man  cares  about  havin'  a  house  kept,  it  looks 
like  it's  foolish  for  women  to  spend  so  much  o'  their 
time  sweepin'  and  keepin'  things  in  order.  Mother 
used  to  think  I  took  housekeepin'  too  easy.  I  ricollect 
once  she  was  spendin'  the  day  with  me  and  I  let  a 
dish  fall,  a  mighty  pretty  china  bowl  with  pink  roses 
on  it,  and  she  begun  sayin'  what  a  pity  it  was,  and 

176 


AN    EYE    FOR    AN     EYE 

how  keerless  I  must  V  been  to  let  it  slip  out  o'  my 
hands,  and  I  jest  laughed  and  picked  up  the  pieces  and 
says  I,  '  Dishes  and  promises  are  made  to  break. 
There's  a  time  app'inted  for  every  dish  to  break, 
jest  as  there  is  for  every  person  to  die,  and  this  bowl's 
time  had  come.'  And  Mother,  she  laughed,  and  says 
she,  '  Well,  Jane,  you'll  never  die  of  the  housekeepin' 
disease.'  And  I  wouldn't  be  surprised,  child,  if  my 
gyardenin'  and  my  easy  goin'  ways  wasn't  the  reason 
why  I'm  here  to-day  watchin'  my  flowers  grow  instead 
o'  bein'  out  yonder  in  the  old  buryin'  ground  with 
Hannah  Crawford  and  the  rest  o'  the  Goshen  women. 
Hannah  took  her  housekeepin'  like  Amos  Matthews 
took  his  religion,  and  that  was  what  broke  her  down 
and  carried  her  off  before  her  time." 

Clouds  were  floating  across  the  sun  and  a  delicate 
shadow  lay  over  the  flower-beds  around  us.  Aunt 
Jane's  eyes  were  on  the  distant  hills  beyond  the  bud 
ding  orchard  trees,  and  I  saw  with  delight  that  she 
was  in  the  garden  but  not  of  it.  A  few  moments  ago 
the  present  beauty  of  the  wistaria  had  possessed  her, 
but  now  she  was  living  in  another  spring. 

"  Dr.  Pendleton  used  to  tell  Hannah  that  her  name 
ought  to-  'a'  been  Martha,  because  she  was  troubled 

177 


THE   LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

about  many  things,"  continued  Aunt  Jane;  "  and  it 
was  her  takin'  trouble  over  things  that  come  near 
throwin'  her  off  her  balance,  back  yonder  in  '54,  the 
year  we  had  the  big  drouth.  Maybe  you've  heard 
your  grandmother  tell  about  it,  child.  Parson  Page 
used  to  say  there  was  nothin'  like  a  drouth  for  makin' 
people  feel  their  dependence  on  a  higher  power,  and 
I  reckon  more  prayers  went  up  to  heaven  that  summer 
than'd  gone  up  for  many  a  year,  and  folks  prayed 
then  that  never  had  prayed  before.  A  time  like  that 
is  mighty  hard  on  man  and  beast.  The  heavens  were 
brass  and  the  earth  cast  iron  jest  like  the  Bible  says. 
Every  livin'  thing  was  parched  up  and  I  ricollect  Sam 
Amos  sayin'  that,  with  the  cistern  and  the  spring  dry 
and  the  river  a  mile  and  a  half  away,  for  once  in  his 
life  he  found  it  easier  to  be  godly  than  to  be  clean. 

"  Well,  about  the  time  when  everything  was  at  its 
worst,  we  had  a  strange  preacher  to  fill  the  pulpit 
o'  Goshen  church,  and  he  preached  a  sermon  that 
none  of  us  ever  forgot.  There's  two  kinds  of 
preachers,  child,  the  New  Testament  preachers  and 
the  Old  Testament  preachers.  Parson  Page  was 
the  New  Testament  kind.  Sam  Amos  used  to  say 
that  Parson  Page's  sermons  never  interfered  with 

178 


AN     EYE     FOR     AN     EYE 

anybody's  Sunday  evenin'  nap.  But  the  minute  I 
laid  eyes  on  the  new  preacher,  I  says  to  myself, 
'  We're  goin'  to  have  an  Old  Testament  sermon, 
this  day,'  and  sure  enough  we  did.  He  was  a  tall, 
thin  man,  with  the  blackest  eyes  and  hair  you  ever 
saw  and  a  mouth  that  looked  like  he'd  never  smiled 
in  his  life,  and  when  he  walked  up  into  the  pulpit  you'd 
'a'  thought  he  was  one  o'  the  old  prophets  come  to 
warn  men  of  judgment  to  come.  He  read  the  twenty- 
first  chapter  of  Exodus,  that  chapter  that's  all  about 
judgments  and  punishments;  and  then  he  turned  over 
to  Leviticus  and  read  a  chapter  there  about  the  same 
things,  and  then  he  picked  out  two  texts  from  these 
chapters.  One  was,  '  Thou  shalt  give  life  for  life, 
eye  for  eye,  tooth  for  tooth,  hand  for  hand,  foot  for 
foot,  burning  for  burning,  wound  for  wound,  stripe 
for  stripe.'  And  the  other  one  was,  '  And  if  a  man 
cause  a  blemish  in  his  neighbor,  as  he  hath  done,  so 
shall  it  be  done  to  him.  Breach  for  breach,  eye  for 
eye,  tooth  for  tooth.' 

"  Well,  honey,  the  sermon  he  preached  from  them 
two  texts  was  somethin'  terrible.  He  begun  by  sayin' 
that  the  kingdom  of  God  was  a  kingdom  of  justice; 
that  every  sin  brought  its  own  punishment  with  it, 

179 


THE   LAND    OF   LONG   AGO 

and  there  was  no  escapin'  it.  He  said  God  had  fixed 
the  penalty  for  every  sin  committed  by  every  sinner; 
we  couldn't  always  tell  what  the  punishment  would 
be,  one  sinner  would  be  punished  one  way  and  another 
sinner  another  way,  and  one  would  have  his  punish 
ment  right  at  once,  and  the  other  might  not  have  his 
for  a  good  many  years,  but  it  was  sure  to  come  at  last. 
He  never  said  a  word  about  the  blood  of  Christ,  and 
the  only  time  he  brought  up  the  New  Testament 
was  when  he  told  about  Christ  sayin'  that  we  had  to 
pay  the  uttermost  farthing. 

"  Now,  of  course,  child,  all  o'  this  is  in  the  Bible, 
and  it  must  be  true.  But  then,  there's  other  texts 
that's  jest  as  true  and  a  heap  more  comfortin',  and  if 
Parson  Page  had  been  preachin'  that  day,  he'd  'a' 
taken  a  text  about  forgiveness  and  atonement,  but 
maybe  we  wouldn't  'a'  remembered  that  as  long  as  we 
remembered  the  other  preacher's  sermon.  I  ricollect 
when  meetin'  broke  everybody  appeared  to  be  laborin* 
under  a  sense  o'  sin,  and  instead  o'  shakin'  hands 
and  talkin'  awhile  as  we  generally  did,  we  all  went 
home  as  quick  as  we  could.  Uncle  Jim  Mathews  said 
it  took  him  a  week  to  git  over  the  effects  o'  that  ser 
mon,  and  Sam  Amos  says,  '  I  thought  I  was  doin' 

180 


AN    EYE    FOR    AN    EYE 

right  in  lettin'  that  shiftless  tenant  o'  mine  off  from 
payin'  his  year's  rent,  I  felt  so  sorry  for  his  wife  and 
children;  but,'  says  he,  '  in  strict  justice  and  accordin' 
to  this  "  eye  for  an  eye  "  doctrine,  I  ought  to  hold  him 
to  his  contract  and  make  him  pay.' 

"  Well,  it  wasn't  long  after  this  till  we  begun  to 
hear  curious  tales  about  the  Crawford  farm.  Abram 
come  in  one  day  and  says  he,  '  Jane,  I  never  have 
believed  in  ghosts  and  spirits,  but  upon  my  soul,'  says 
he,  '  Miles  Crawford's  been  tellin'  me  some  things 
that  make  me  think  maybe  there's  such  a  thing  after 
all.'  And  he  went  on  to  tell  how  Miles  had  had  his 
straw  stacks  pulled  down,  and  the  fodder  scattered 
all  over  the  barn  floor,  and  his  tools  carried  off  and 
hid  in  fence  corners,  and  his  bags  o'  seed  spilled  around, 
and  he  couldn't  tell  when  it  was  done  nor  who  did  it. 
Of  course  the  talk  spread  all  over  the  neighborhood, 
and  every  week  there'd  be  some  new  happenin',  till 
folks  begun  to  say  the  place  was  ha'nted  and  nobody 
liked  to  pass  it  after  dark. 

"  Well,  one  day  about  the  last  day  of  August  Abram 
went  to  town  on  some  business  or  other,  and  I  went 
with  him.  I  ricollect  the  drouth  had  broke,  and  the 
grass  and  flowers  and  trees  buddin'  out  made  it  look 

181 


THE   LAND    OF   LONG   AGO 

jest  like  spring.  Well,  we  went  joggin'  along  the  pike, 
laughin'  and  talkin',  and  as  we  passed  Miles  Craw 
ford's  place  we  saw  Miles  come  out  on  the  front  porch 
and  look  up  and  down  the  road.  When  he  saw  us, 
he  come  runnin'  down  the  path  and  motioned  to  us 
to  stop,  and  when  he  got  within  speakin'  distance  he 
called  out,  '  If  you're  goin'  to  town,  stop  by  Dr.  Pen- 
dleton's  and  tell  him  to  come  out  here  as  quick  as  he 
can,  for  Hannah's  lost  her  senses.'  Says  he,  '  She's 
been  at  the  bottom  of  all  the  devilment  that's  been 
done  on  the  farm  for  the  last  month,  and  this  mornin',' 
says  he,  '  I  set  a  watch  and  caught  her  at  it,  and  she's 
crazy  as  a  loon.'  With  that  I  jumped  out  o'  the  buggy, 
and  says  I,  '  Drive  on,  Abram,  I'm  goin'  to  stay  with 
Hannah  till  the  doctor  comes.'  So  Abram  drove  off, 
and  I  went  on  to  the  house  with  Miles.  He  was  mighty 
excited  and  put  out,  and  kept  talkin'  about  the  trouble 
he'd  had  and  blamin'  Hannah  for  it.  And  Hannah 
was  rockin'  herself  back  and  forth,  laughin'  and  cryin' 
and  sayin',  '  An  eye  for  an  eye  and  a  tooth  for  a  tooth.' 
I  saw  in  a  minute  she  was  in  a  mighty  bad  fix,  and  I 
was  jest  wonderin'  what  on  earth  I  would  do  till  the 
doctor  got  there,  and  I  put  up  a  prayer  that  Abram 
wouldn't  be  long  findin'  him;  but  that  very  minute 

18-2 


AN     EYE     FOR    AN     EYE 

I  heard  the  sound  of  two  buggies  on  the  pike.  Abram 
had  met  the  doctor  comin'  out  to  Goshen,  and  turned 
around  and  come  back  with  him,  and  the  minute  I 
saw  the  doctor's  old  broad-brimmed  hat,  I  says  to 
myself,  '  It's  all  right  now.'  I  don't  reckon  there  ever 
was  a  man  that  understood  women  like  the  old  doctor 
did,  and  him  an  old  bachelor  at  that.  I  used  to  think 
it  was  a  pity  he  hadn't  married;  he'd  'a'  made  such 
a  good,  kind  husband.  But  then,  bein'  the  man  he 
was,  he  couldn't  marry." 

There  was  both  paradox  and  enigma  in  this  state 
ment,  and  I  asked  for  an  explanation. 

"  Now,  child,"  said  Aunt  Jane,  "  you're  throwin' 
me  clear  off  the  track.  For  pity's  sake  let  me  get 
through  with  one  story  before  you  start  me  on  another. 
As  I  was  sayin',  the  old  doctor  come;  but  with  Miles 
ragin'  around  and  threatenin'  to  send  Hannah  to  the 
Asylum,  and  Hannah  cryin'  and  laughin'and  sayin',  'An 
eye  for  an  eye  and  a  tooth  for  a  tooth,'  and  me  try  in'  to 
pacify  Hannah  and  Abram  tryin'  to  pacify  Miles,  it 
was  some  time  before  he  could  come  to  an  under- 
standin'  of  the  case;  and  when  he  begun  to  see  daylight 
he  turned  around  to  Miles  as  stern  as  if  he  was  re- 
provin'  a  child,  and  says  he,  '  Not  another  word, 

183 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

Miles!  If  you  can't  hold  your  tongue  go  out  of  the 
room,  for  every  time  you  speak  you're  makin'  Hannah 
that  much  worse.'  And  he  turns  around  to  me  and 
says  he,  '  Have  you  any  idea  what  Hannah  means 
by  saying  "  An  eye  for  an  eye  and  a  tooth  for  a  tooth  ?  " 
And  I  says,  *  Doctor,  do  you  ricollect  the  sermon  that 
strange  minister  preached  about  a  month  ago  ? ' 
Says  I,  *  I  may  be  wrong,  but  it's  my  belief  that  that 
sermon  helped  to  put  Hannah  in  the  fix  she's  in  now.' 
And  the  doctor,  he  thought  a  minute,  and  then  he 
nodded  his  head  right  slow,  and  says  he,  '  I  remember 
that  sermon.  It  was  not  a  wholesome  sort  of  a  dis 
course  for  any  one  to  listen  to.'  Says  he,  *  It  might 
not  hurt  a  healthy  person,  but  if  there  was  anyone 
in  the  congregation  with  a  sick  mind,  such  a  person 
couldn't  be  benefited  by  it.'  And  then  he  says  to 
Hannah,  '  Was  it  that  sermon  that  put  it  into  your 
head  to  tear  down  Miles's  corn  shocks  ? '  And  Han 
nah  laughed  and  wrung  her  hands  together  and  rocked 
herself  backward  and  forward,  and  says  she,  '  Yes, 
that  was  it.  Miles  has  been  undoin'  my  work  and 
givin'  me  trouble  for  thirty-five  years,  and  I've  wished 
many  a  time  I  could  pay  him  back  and  make  him  see 
how  hard  it  was,  but  I  couldn't  bring  myself  to  do 

184 


AN    EYE    FOR    AN    EYE 

what  I  wanted  to  do  till  I  heard  that  sermon.  I 
found  out  then  that  God  wanted  me  to  pay  Miles  back, 
and  I'm  glad  I  pulled  his  corn  shocks  to  pieces,  and 
tore  down  the  straw  stacks  and  scattered  the  bran  all 
over  the  stable  floor.  May  be  he  knows  now  how  hard 
I  have  to  work  to  keep  house  for  him,  and  may  be  he'll 
be  more  keerful  about  litterin'  the  house  up  and  pullin' 
things  to  pieces.'  Says  she,  '  I  work  from  mornin'  till 
night,  but  there's  always  somethin'  left  undone.  Be 
fore  I  get  through  with  the  breakfast  dishes  and  cleanin' 
the  house  and  churnin',  it's  time  to  cook  dinner,  and 
by  the  time  I've  cooked  dinner  and  cleaned  up  the 
dishes  and  sewed  and  mended  a  little,  it's  time  to  cook 
supper  and  attend  to  the  milkin',  and  I  try  to  see 
after  the  children,  but  there's  always  somethin' 
undone.'  Says  she,  '  I  believe  I  could  ketch  up  with 
my  work,  if  Miles  would  only  stop  undoin'  what  I  do. 
But  it  looks  like  I  can't  keep  up  any  longer,'  says  she, 
*  with  him  workin'  against  me  all  the  time.'  And  Miles 
says,  '  You  hear  that  ?  You  hear  that  ?  Talkin'  about 
lookin'  after  the  children,  and  every  child  grown  and 
married  and  gone  long  ago!  She's  crazy,  crazy  as  a 
loon ! '  The  doctor  turned  around  and  give  Miles  a  look 
that  hushed  him  up.  And  then  he  took  hold  of  Ilau- 

185 


THE   LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

nah's  hand  and  smoothed  it  right  gentle  and  easy,  and 
says  he,  *  That's  right,  tell  me  all  your  troubles ;  a 
trouble  is  easier  to  bear  after  you've  told  it  to  some 
body.' 

"  It  looked  like  Hannah's  tongue  was  loosed,  and 
she  went  on  talkin'  harder  and  faster  than  I  ever  had 
known  her  to  talk  before.  Says  she,  '  I  never  was  a 
lazy  woman,  and  I  always  kept  up  with  my  work, 
I  always  loved  to  work,  and  Miles  never  could  say  I 
slighted  anything  about  the  house,  but  now  it's  dif 
ferent.  It  looks  like  there's  a  change  come  over  me. 
I  can't  do  what  I  used  to  do,  and  there's  times  when  I 
don't  seem  to  keer  how  things  go.  I  reckon  it's  my 
fault,  and  I'm  always  blamin'  myself  for  not  gittin' 
more  done,  but  I  can't  help  it.  There's  a  change  come 
over  me,  and  I  ain't  the  woman  I  was  a  year  ago.' 

"  The  doctor,  he  was  listenin'  to  it  all  jest  as  kind 
and  earnest  as  you  please,  and  he  nodded  his  head 
and  says,  '  Yes,  I  understand  it  all,  and  I  know  ex 
actly  how  you  feel.'  And  he  put  his  fingers  on  Han 
nah's  wrist  and  thought  a  minute,  and  says  he,  *  Han 
nah,  my  child,'  —  No  matter  how  old  a  woman 
was,  honey,"  said  Aunt  Jane,  interrupting  herself, 
"  Dr.  Pendleton  would  always  say  *  my  child  '  or  '  my 

186 


AN    EYE    FOR    AN    EYE 

daughter,'  or  '  my  sister '  when  he  was  talkin'  to  her. 
Maria  Petty  used  to  say  that  jest  the  sound  of  his  voice 
was  as  good  as  medicine  to  a  sick  person.  And  says  he, 
'  There's  one  more  question  I  want  to  ask  you :  Is 
there  anything  you  can  think  of  that  you'd  like  to  have 
or  like  to  do  ?  ' 

"  And  Hannah  put  her  hand  up  to  her  face  and 
burst  out  cryin'  like  a  little  child,  and  the  old  doctor 
patted  her  on  the  shoulder  and  says  he,  *  That's  right; 
cry  as  much  as  you  please,'  and  when  Hannah  had 
kind  o'  quieted  down,  he  says  again,  '  Now  tell  me 
what  it  is  you  want;  I  know  there's  somethin'  you 
want,  and  if  you  can  get  it,  it'll  make  you  well.'  And 
Hannah  begun  cryin'  again,  and  says  she,  *  If  I  told 
you  what  it  is  I  want,  you'd  think  I'm  crazy  sure 
enough,  and  may  be  I  am.  My  head  feels  heavy  and 
dizzy,'  says  she,  *  and  sometimes  I  feel  like  I  was 
goin'  to  fall  backward,  and  I  can't  remember  things 
like  I  used  to  do ;  I  don't  take  any  interest  in  my  work, 
and  I  can't  git  to  sleep  at  night  for  a  long  time,  and  I 
wake  up  at  two  o'clock  and  stay  awake  till  daylight, 
and  jest  as  I'm  droppin'  off,  it's  time  to  git  up  and  cook 
breakfast,  and  I'm  so  tired  that  sometimes  I  wish  the 
end  of  the  world  would  come  and  put  a  stop  to  every- 

187 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

thing.  But  I  don't  want  to  go  to  the  Asylum.  Don't 
let  Miles  send  me  there.'  And  the  doctor  says,  '  Don't 
you  be  afraid  of  that.  Miles  will  never  send  you  to 
an  asylum  while  I'm  alive  to  protect  you.  But  you 
must  tell  me  what  it  is  you  want.  There's  some  little 
thing,'  says  he,  '  that'll  make  you  well,  and  you  know 
what  it  is  better  than  I  do.'  Well,  Hannah  held  back 
like  a  child  that's  afraid  of  a  whippin',  but  finally 
she  says,  *  You  know  that  pasture  at 'the  back  o'  the 
house.  I  can  see  it  from  the  kitchen  window.  Miles 
sowed  it  in  clover  last  year,  and  the  clover's  come  up 
since  the  rain  and  it's  bloomin'  now,  and  there's  two 
or  three  big  oak  trees  in  the  middle  o'  the  field  and  the 
cows  come  up  and  lie  down  in  the  shade  o'  the  trees; 
and  every  time  I  look  out  o'  the  window  while  I'm 
washin'  dishes  and  makin'  up  bread,  I  think  if  I  could 
jest  lie  down  in  the  shade  of  the  trees  and  look  up 
at  the  sky  all  day  and  know  there  was  somebody  up 
here  in  the  kitchen  doin'  my  work,  I'd  get  well  and 
strong  again.'  And  the  doctor's  eyes  filled  up  with 
tears,  and  he  patted  Hannah  on  the  back  and  says  he, 
*  Poor  child!  Poor  child!  '  And  then  he  turned  around 
to  Miles,  and  says  he,  '  Miles,  do  you  hear  that  ? 
There's  nothing  in  the  world  the  matter  with  Hannah, 

188 


AN     EYE     FOR    AN     EYE 

except  that  she's  worked  to  death.'  Says  he,  *  Go 
down  to  that  pasture  at  once  and  turn  the  cows  into 
some  other  field.  Hannah  shall  have  her  wish  before 
I  leave  this  house.'  Miles  was  an  older  man  than  the 
doctor,  honey,  but  he  minded  the  same  as  if  he'd  been 
his  son;  and  while  he  was  turnin'  the  cows  out,  we 
got  some  old  comforts  and  a  piller,  and  all  of  us  went 
down  to  the  pasture  and  spread  the  quilt  under  the 
tree.  The  doctor  made  Hannah  lay  down,  and  says  he, 
*  Now,  shut  your  eyes  and  let  the  sun  and  the  wind 
take  care  of  you.  They're  the  best  nurses  in  the  world; ' 
and  says  he,  '  I'll  drop  by  again  in  an  hour  or  so  to 
see  how  you're  getting  on,  and  Miles  will  come  down 
every  little  while  to  bring  you  a  glass  of  water  and 
something  to  eat.  You  must  stay  here  until  the  sun 
goes  down,  and  then  come  up  to  the  house  and  go  right 
to  bed.' 

"  So  we  all  walked  back  to  the  house,  and  the  doctor 
went  to  the  front  room  where  he'd  left  his  medicine 
case,  and  he  picked  it  up  and  turned  around  and  faced 
Miles,  and  says  he,  '  Miles,  lose  no  time  about  getting 
some  one  to  do  your  work,  for  Hannah's  going  to  rest 
under  that  tree  for  many  a  day.'  Says  he,  '  There's  a 
time  in  a  woman's  life  when  every  burden  ought  to  be 

189 


THE   LAND    OF   LONG   AGO 

lifted  from  her  shoulders,  and  Hannah's  reached  that 
time.  She's  like  a  worn  out  field  that's  borne  its  har 
vests  year  after  year  and  needs  to  lie  fallow  for  awhile.' 
Says  he,  '  Look  at  your  seven  children,  your  six-foot 
sons  and  your  handsome  daughters,  and  think  of  the 
little  baby  lying  out  in  the  burying  ground.  How  can 
you  talk  about  sending  the  mother  of  your  children 
to  the  lunatic  asylum,  and  all  because  she's  undone 
a  little  of  your  work  in  the  last  few  weeks,  when  you've 
been  undoing  hers  all  your  married  life  ?  '  Says  he, 
*  You're  a  hard  man,  Miles;  your  nature's  like  one  of 
the  barren,  rocky  spots  you'll  come  across  in  one  of 
your  pastures  —  spots  where  not  even  a  blade  of  grass 
can  grow.'  Says  he,  '  You  can't  change  your  nature 
any  more  than  the  Ethiopian  can  change  his  color  or 
the  leopard  his  spots,  but  from  this  time  on  you've 
got  to  try  to  treat  Hannah  with  a  little  consideration.' 
And  I  believe  Miles  did  try.  I  ricollect  seein'  him 
help  Hannah  put  on  her  shawl  one  Sunday  after  church, 
and  pull  it  around  her  shoulders  mighty  awkward, 
jest  as  a  person  would,  when  he's  doin'  a  thing  he  never 
did  before.  I  don't  reckon  Hannah  keered  much 
about  it.  A  man  oughtn't  to  have  to  try  to  be  kind 
to  his  wife,  and  when  a  woman  comes  to  the  end  of  a 

190 


AN    EYE    FOR    AN    EYE 

hard  life  like  Hannah's,  a  little  kindness  don't  amount 
to  much.  It's  mighty  hard  to  make  a  thing  end  right, 
honey,  unless  it  begins  right. 

"  Hannah  got  well,  though,  and  the  first  time  she 
come  to  church  she  looked  ten  years  younger;  but 
she  never  was  as  strong  as  she  was  before  she  broke 
down,  and  I  always  thought  she  died  before  her  time. 
It  looked  like  a  curious  way  to  treat  a  sick  person, 
to  put  her  out  in  a  field  and  not  give  her  a  drop  o' 
medicine,  but  that  was  what  Hannah  wanted,  and  it 
made  her  well.  You  know  the  Bible  says,  *  Hope 
deferred  maketh  the  heart  sick.'  And  I  reckon  the 
cure  for  that  kind  o'  sickness  is  havin'  the  thing  you've 
been  hopin'  for. 

"  Hannah  said  at  first  she  jest  laid  still  with  her 
eyes  shut,  and  felt  the  wind  blowin'  over  her  face, 
and  then  she  got  to  droppin'  off  to  sleep  every  little 
while,  and  after  she'd  begun  to  feel  rested,  she'd  lay 
there  and  look  up  at  the  sky  and  watch  the  clouds 
floatin'  past,  and  she  said  she  never  knew  before  how 
pretty  the  sky  was.  She'd  been  livin'  under  it  all 
her  life  and  never  had  time  to  look  up  at  it. 

"  Did  you  ever  think,  child,"  said  Aunt  Jane,  break 
ing  off  in  her  story,  "  that  nearly  all  the  work  we've 

191 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

got  to  do  keeps  us  lookin'  down  ?  And  once  in  awhile 
it's  a  good  thing  to  stop  work  and  look  up  at  the  sky. 
Parson  Page  used  to  say  that  every  sunrise  and  moon- 
rise  and  sunset  was  a  message  from  heaven  sayin' 
*  Look  up !  Look  up !  for  earth  is  not  your  home.' 
Hannah  said  lookin'  up  at  the  sky  was  like  lookin' 
into  deep  water,  and  sometimes  she'd  feel  as  if  her  soul 
had  left  her  body  and  she  didn't  know  whether  she 
was  still  on  this  earth  or  whether  she'd  died  and  gone 
to  heaven ;  and  she  believed  if  folks  would  lay  off  from 
work  once  a  year  and  rest  under  the  trees  the  way  she 
did,  they'd  live  to  be  as  old  as  Methuselah." 

Had  I  not  heard  it  once  before,  this  homely  tale  of 
woman's  work  and  woman's  weariness,  that  life  repeats 
with  endless  variations?  Told  in  simple  rhyme  it  lay 
between  the  yellowed  pages  of  an  old  scrap-book  and 
hovered  half -forgotten  in  a  dusty  corner  of  my  brain. 

"  Aunt  Jane,"  I  said,  "  there  was  once  a  woman 
who  felt  just  as  Hannah  Crawford  did,  and  she  put 
her  feelings  into  words  and  called  them  '  A  Woman's 
Longing : ' 

"  '  All  hopes,  all  wishes,  all  desires  have  left  me, 
My  heart  is  empty  as  a  last  year's  nest, 
192 


AN    EYE    FOR    AN    EYE 

0,  great  Earth  —  Mother!  take  me  to  thy  bosom 
And  give  a  tired  child  rest. 

"  '  Nay,  not  a  grave!     Leave  thy  green  turf  unbroken! 
Not  death  I  ask,  —  but  strength  to  bear  my  life, 
This  endless  round  of  strange,  conflicting  duties, 
These  stale  conventions  and  this  aimless  strife. 

"  '  I  have  no  part  nor  lot  in  such  existence,  > 

And  I  am  like  a  stream  cut  from  its  source; 
Let  me  go  hence  and  quench  the  spirit's  thirsting 
At  those  deep  springs  of  force 

" '  That  well  unseen  neath  all  life's  myriad  phases, 
Rousing  to  action,  lulling  to  repose  — 
A  child's  first  cry,  a  warrior's  call  to  battle, 
A  planet's  march,  the  fading  of  a  rose. 

"  '  Give  me  a  bed  among  earth's  flowers  and  grasses, 
Some  shadowy  place  from  men  and  things  apart, 
Where  I  can  hear  and  feel  the  steady  beating 
Of  Nature's  tireless  heart, 

" '  Stilling  the  tumult  of  my  brain,  o'er-crowded 
With  fears  and  fancies  that  have  banished  sleep, 
And  losing  pain  and  weariness  forever 

In  heaven's  unfathomed  deep, 

"  '  Till  I  lay  hold  upon  my  dear  lost  birth-right, 
My  oneness  with  all  things  that  were  and  are, 
193 


THE   LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

Can  feel  the  sea's  pulse  mine,  my  breath  the  wind's 

breath, 
And  trace  my  kinship  to  the  evening  star. 

"  '  Then  send  me  back  to  life's  imperious  calling, 
The  love  that  crushes  and  the  cares  that  irk, 
To  strive,  to  fail,  to  strive  again  and  conquer, 
Till  the  night  cometh  when  no  man  can  work.'  " 

Aunt  Jane  had  dropped  her  knitting;  her  eyes  glowed, 
and  she  leaned  forward  entranced,  for  the  simple 
verses  held  the  unfailing  spells  that  rhythm  and  rhyme 
have  cast  over  the  soul  ever  since  the  Muses  touched 
their  golden  harps  on  Parnassus,  pouring  "  the  dew 
of  soft  persuasion  on  the  lips  of  man  "  and  "  dispelling 
sorrow  and  grief  from  the  breast  of  every  mortal." 

"  Why,  child,"  she  exclaimed,  drawing  a  breath 
of  deep  delight,  "  that's  as  pretty  as  any  hymn.  But 
it  looks  like  anybody  that  can  say  things  that  pretty 
oughtn't  to  have  the  troubles  that  common  folks  has." 

Ah,  if  the  power  to  put  a  sorrowful  thought  into 
beautiful  words  brought  with  it  exemption  from  sorrow, 
who  would  not  covet  the  gift  ? 

"  But,"  continued  Aunt  Jane,  "  everybody  has  to 
have  some  trials.  I  ricollect  Parson  Page  preachin'  a 
sermon  about  that  very  thing.  He  said  folks  in  trouble 

194 


AN     EYE     FOR    AN     EYE 

always  thought  their  troubles  was  more  than  any 
body's;  and  they'd  look  around  and  see  somebody  that 
appeared  to  be  happy  and  they'd  envy  that  person, 
when  maybe  that  person  was  envyin'  them,  for  it's 
jest  as  the  Bible  says,  '  There  hath  no  trouble  taken  you 
but  is  common  to  all  men.'  ' 

And  while  Aunt  Jane  spoke  I  saw  this  life  of  ours 
as  a  sacramental  feast.  The  table  is  long,  and  here 
sits  a  king  and  there  a  beggar.  The  cups  are  many, 
and  mine  may  be  of  clay  and  yours  of  gold,  but  the 
wine,  the  bitter-sweet  wine,  is  the  same  for  all.  One 
rapture  throbs  in  the  heart  of  the  Romany  youth  who 
plights  his  troth  under  the  forest  tree,  and  the  heart 
of  the  prince  royal  who  kneels  at  the  cathedral  altar. 
The  tramp-wife  burying  her  baby  by  the  roadside 
might  clasp  hands  with  the  queen-mother  who  weeps 
at  the  door  of  the  royal  mausoleum,  for  on  the  heights 
of  joy  or  in  the  depths  of  pain  all  men  are  brothers, 
all  women  sisters. 

"  And  now,  honey,"  said  Aunt  Jane,  "  I've  wasted 
enough  o'  this  pretty  mornin'  talkin'  about  old  times. 
Spring  time's  workin'  time  and  I  must  be  up  and 
doin'." 

But  I  caught  her  hand  and  held  her  fast. 
195 


THE   LAND    OF   LONG   AGO 

"  Just  one  thing  more,  Aunt  Jane,"  I  pleaded. 
"  Tell  me  what  you  meant  by  saying  that  being  the 
man  he  was  Dr.  Pendleton  couldn't  marry  ?  " 

Aunt  Jane  hesitated  a  moment  looking  towards  a 
certain  flower-bed  where  tulips  and  hyacinths  stood 
half-smothered  in  a  drift  of  dead  leaves.  The  morning 
hours  were  passing  and  the  garden  needed  the  work 
of  her  hands,  but  my  clasp  was  firm  and  the  call  of 
the  past  was  still  sounding  in  her  heart. 

"  I  meant  .jest  what  I  said,  honey,"  she  answered, 
settling  herself  again  on  the  old  garden  seat.  "  There's 
such  a  thing  as  a  man  lovin'  a  woman  too  well  to 
marry  her,  and  that's  the  way  it  was  with  the  doctor. 
You  might  think,  maybe,  Dr.  Pendleton  come  of  plain 
folks,  bein'  jest  a  country  doctor.  But,  no;  his  people 
was  among  the  best  and  the  richest  in  the  county, 
and  he'd  had  all  the  chances  that  rich  people  can  give 
their  children.  He'd  been  to  college  and  he'd  trav 
elled  around  and  seen  the  world,  and  no  young  man 
could  'a'  had  a  prettier  prospect  before  him  than 
Arthur  Pendleton,  —  that  was  the  doctor's  name,  — 
when  he  come  home  from  his  studyin'  and  his  trav- 
ellin'  and  started  out  to  practisin'  medicine  with  his 
father.  Young  and  handsome  and  rich,  and  then  there 

196 


AN     EYE     FOR    AN     EYE 

was  Miss  Dorothy  Schuyler,  and  he  was  in  love  with 
her  and  she  was  in  love  with  him.  Father  used  to 
say  when  a  man  had  all  that,  there  wasn't  standin' 
room  for  a  wish. 

"  Miss  Dorothy  was  one  p'  the  Virginia  Schuylers, 
and  the  first  time  she  come  to  visit  her  Kentucky 
cousins,  she  met  the  young  doctor,  and  they  fell  in 
love  with  each  other  jest  like  Hamilton  Schuyler  and 
Miss  Amaryllis,  and  before  she  went  back  to  her  home 
it  was  all  settled  that  they'd  be  married  the  next  spring. 
The  young  doctor,  he  made  a  journey  to  Virginia  to  git 
her  father's  and  mother's  consent;  for  in  that  day 
and  time,  child,  a  young  man  couldn't  jest  pick  up 
a  gyirl  and  walk  off  with  her.  He  had  to  say  '  By  your 
leave  '  and  do  a  little  courtin'  with  the  old  folks  before 
he  could  claim  the  gyirl. 

"  Well,  it  all  looked  like  plain  sailin'  for  the  young 
doctor.  His  father  begun  givin'  up  his  practice  — 
took  off  his  own  shoes,  you  might  say,  and  let  his  son 
step  into  'em  —  and  the  weddin'  day  was  comin', 
when  all  at  once  the  banks  got  to  failin'  all  over  the 
country,  and  the  Pendletons  lost  pretty  near  every 
thing  they  had  except  their  land.  Then,  to  make  a 
bad  matter  worse,  the  old  doctor's  name  was  on  a 

197 


THE   LAND    OF   LONG   AGO 

note,  and  that  fell  due  about  the  time  the  banks  failed, 
and  he  had  to  sell  the  family  place  and  a  good  deal 
o'  the  land. 

"  They  said  when  he  got  through  settlin'  up  his 
affairs  he  says,  *  Well,  I've  lost  my  money  and  my 
lands  and  my  home,  but  I've  saved  my  good  name.' 

"  I  reckon  it  must  'a'  taken  the  young  doctor  a 
good  while  to  come  to  an  understandin'  of  what  he'd 
lost.  By  the  time  you're  old,  losin'  comes  natural  to 
you,  but  it's  hard  for  young  folks  to  take  in  a  big  loss. 
But  as  soon  as  Arthur  Pendleton  understood  that  all 
his  father  had  was  a  good  name,  and  all  he  had  was 
his  father's  practice,  he  wrote  to  Miss  Dorothy  and 
set  her  free  from  her  promise  to  marry  him. 

"  The  old  doctor  begged  him  not  to  do  it.  Says  he, 
'  Son,  you've  lost  pretty  near  everything,  and  now 
you're  throwing  away  the  best  of  what's  left.'  Says 
he,  '  Don't  strip  your  life  bare  of  every  chance  for 
happiness.  Hold  on  to  love,  even  if  you  have  lost 
your  money.' 

"  But  the  young  doctor  says,  says  he,  *  When  a 
man's  money's  gone  it's  no  time  for  him  to  be  thinkin* 
about  love.'  Says  he,  '  Unless  a  man  loves  a  woman 
well  enough  to  give  her  up  when  he's  too  poor  to  take 

198 


AN    EYE    FOR    AN    EYE 

care  of  her,  his  love's  not  worth  much.  In  her  father's 
house,'  says  he,  '  she's  lived  like  the  lilies  of  the  field, 
and  the  man  that  loves  her  mustn't  be  the  one  to  bring 
her  down  to  poverty  and  hard  work.'  So  he  wrote  to 
her  and  told  her  to  forget  him  as  soon  as  she  could, 
and  love  some  other  man  who  could  give  her  what  a 
woman  ought  to  have,  and  she  told  him  that  if  she 
ever  loved  anybody  else,  she'd  send  back  the  ring  he'd 
given  her.  But,  honey,  that  ring  stayed  on  Miss 
Dorothy's  finger  till  her  dyin'  day,  and  I  reckon  it 
was  buried  with  her.  Folks  said  they  never  wrote  to 
each  other  any  more,  but  every  year  or  so  Miss  Doro- 
thy'd  come  back  to  visit  the  Schuylers  and  the  doctor 
he'd  go  to  see  her,  and  they  used  to  say  that  he'd  look 
at  her  finger  before  he'd  look  at  her  face,  and  when 
he'd  see  his  ring  there  he'd  be  too  happy  to  say  a  word. 
He'd  take  both  her  hands  in  his,  and  his  eyes'd  fill  up 
with  tears  and  he'd  look  down  at  her  face,  and  she'd 
look  up  at  him  and  laugh  and  ask  him  if  he  didn't 
want  his  ring  back  to  give  to  some  other  gyirl. 

"  Well,  things  went  on  this  way  one  year  after  an 
other,  the  doctor  workin'  and  Miss  Dorothy  comin' 
and  goin'  and  both  of  'em  hopin',  I  reckon,  and  lookin' 
forward  to  marry  in'  some  day;  for  she  was  young  and 

199 


THE   LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

so  was  he,  and  when  folks  are  young  they  always  feel 
certain  of  havin'  their  own  way  with  life,  and  it's  easy 
for  'em  to  wait  and  hope  for  the  things  that's  out  o' 
reach.  But  nothin'  seemed  to  go  right  with  the  doctor. 
If  he  saved  up  a  little  money  and  put  it  in  the  bank, 
or  bought  a  piece  o'  property,  bad  luck  was  sure  to 
come  along  and  pull  down  everything  he'd  built  up. 
His  father's  health  broke  down,  and  of  course  he  had 
to  ease  the  old  man's  way  to  the  grave;  his  youngest 
brother  had  to  be  educated,  and  first  one  thing  and 
then  another  kept  comin'  up  and  puttin'  Miss  Dorothy 
further  off. 

"  But  the  older  they  got,  the  more  they  loved  each 
other;  and  Miss  Dorothy,  she'd  come  and  go  every 
summer,  till  finally  one  summer  she  didn't  come; 
and  the  next  summer  the  doctor  went  to  Virginia  to 
see  her,  and  come  back  lookin'  like  an  old,  old  man; 
and  not  long  afterwards  he  come  into  church  one 
Sunday  with  a  band  o'  black  crape  around  his  hat,  and 
then  we  knew  Miss  Dorothy  was  dead." 

"  But  wasn't  Miss  Dorothy  willing  to  marry  the 
doctor  in  spite  of  his  poverty  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  reckon  she  must  'a'  been,"  responded  Aunt  Jane. 
"  When  a  woman  waits  all  her  life  for  a  man,  like  Miss 

200 


AN    EYE    FOR    AN    EYE 

Dorothy  did  for  the  doctor,  it  stands  to  reason  she's 
willin'  to  marry  him  any  time." 

"  Oh!  Then  why  in  the  world  didn't  she  tell  him 
so  ?  "  I  exclaimed. 

The  bodies  of  my  lovers  were  dust  and  their  souls 
with  the  saints  these  many  years,  but  Aunt  Jane  had 
called  from  the  dead  "  each  frustrate  ghost ";  the 
pathos  of  her  tale  thrilled  me  sharply  and  I  could  not 
stay  my  cry  of  regret  over  "  The  counter  these  lovers 
staked  "  —  and  lost. 

Aunt  Jane  turned  toward  me  and  looked  over  her 
glasses  with  frank  astonishment  in  her  clear  old  eyes. 
More  than  once  had  I  shocked  her  with  sentiments  dis 
cordant  with  her  own  ideals  of  life  and  conduct,  but 
never  so  severely  as  now.  She  delayed  her  reply  as 
if  to  give  me  a  gracious  opportunity  to  recall  my  un 
seemly  words.  Then  — 

"  Child,"  she  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "  you  know  such 
a  thing  wouldn't  be  fittin'  for  a  young  gyirl  to  do. 
Why  that'd  be  pretty  near  as  bad  as  Miss  Dorothy 
askin*  the  doctor  to  marry  her.  No  matter  how  much 
a  woman  loves  a  man,  she's  got  to  sit  still  and  wait  till 
he  asks  her  to  marry  him,  and  if  he  never  asks  her, 
why,  all  she  can  do  is  to  marry  somebody  else  or  stay 

201 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

an  old  maid.  With  the  raisin'  you've  had,  I  oughtn't 
to  have  to  tell  you  that." 

.  "  Oh!  Of  course!  "  I  hastily  assented.  "  A  woman 
can't  ask  a  man  to  marry  her.  But  isn't  it  sad  to  see 
people  losing  their  happiness  in  this  way  ?  " 

"  Now,  that's  the  curious  part  of  it,  child,"  said 
Aunt  Jane.  "  It's  mighty  mournful  while  I'm  tellin' 
it,  but  if  you'd  known  the  doctor  and  Miss  Dorothy, 
you  never  would  'a'  thought  they  were  losin'  anything. 
At  first,  you  must  ricollect,  they  had  hopes  to  keep 
their  spirits  up,  and  as  long  as  you've  got  hope,  child, 
you've  got  everything.  Of  course  there  must  'a' 
come  a  time  when  they  stopped  hopin',  and  I  reckon 
that  was  when  their  hair  begun  to  turn  gray  and  their 
eyesight  failed.  It's  a  time  that  comes  to  all  of  us, 
honey,  and  when  it  does  come,  we  generally  find  that 
we've  got  grace  to  give  up  the  things  we've  been  wantin' 
so  long;  and  that's  the  way  it  was  with  Miss  Dorothy 
and  the  doctor.  To  see  them  two,  after  they'd  passed 
then*  youth,  walkin'  together  and  ridin'  together  and 
comin'  into  church  and  settin'  side  by  side  in  the  same 
pew,  singin'  out  o'  the  same  hymn  book,  —  why  it 
was  the  prettiest  sight  in  the  world.  Mighty  few  old 
married  couples  ever  looked  as  happy  as  Miss  Dorothy 

202 


AN    EYE    FOR    AN    EYE 

and  the  doctor,  old  maid  and  old  bachelor  as  they 
were. 

"  Plenty  of  folks,  though,  thought  jest  as  you  do,  and 
Mother  was  one  of  'em.  She  neVer  had  any  patience 
with  the  way  Dr.  Pendleton  and  Miss  Dorothy  be 
haved  about  marryin'.  Says  she,  '  You  put  an  old 
married  woman  and  an  old  maid  together,  and  you 
can't  tell  which  is  which.  A  woman's  got  to  lose  her 
good  looks  and  her  health  whether  she  marries  or  not, 
and  while  she's  about  it,  she  might  as  well  lose  'em 
for  her  husband  and  her  children  instead  o'  stayin' 
single  and  dryin'  up  all  for  nothin'.'  They  said  Judge 
Elrod  undertook  to  reason  with  the  doctor  once  about 
the  folly  of  two  people  stayin'  single  when  they  loved 
each  other.  He  p'inted  out  to  him  that  Miss  Dorothy 
was  gittin'  on  in  years,  and  that  a  woman  ought  to 
be  willin'  to  put  up  with  a  few  hardships  if  she  loved 
a  man.  And  the  doctor,  he  listened,  and  shook  his 
head  and  says  he,  *  Yes,  she's  fading,  fading,  but  — 
God  be  thanked!  —  it's  no  fault  of  mine.  The  hand 
of  time  has  touched  her;  her  pretty  curls  are  turning 
gray  and  the  pretty  color's  leaving  her  cheek;  but  her 
hands  are  as  soft  and  white  as  they  were  when  I  put 
my  ring  on  her  finger.  She's  never  known  a  hardship 

203 


THE   LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

or  carried  a  burden.  She'll  go  to  her  grave  like  a  rose 
that's  touched  by  the  frost,  and  I  can  bear  to  be  parted 
from  her  that  way.  But  if  I'd  put  a  hardship  or  a 
burden  on  her  and  she'd  died  under  it,  I'd  never  be 
able  to  look  my  own  soul  in  the  face.' 

"  That's  the  way  he  looked  at  it,  and  nothin'  could 
ever  make  him  change  his  mind.  I  reckon  the  doctor's 
way  o'  lovin'  was  somethin'  like  Hamilton  Schuyler's." 

With  these  words  Aunt  Jane  closed  the  treasure- 
chest  of  memory  and  walked  briskly  away  to  look  after 
the  welfare  of  the  tulips  and  hyacinths. 

A  little  story  of  a  great  love!  And  as  I  pondered  it, 
the  country  doctor  became  a  knight  of  a  finer  chivalry 
than  that  which  once  stirred  the  blood  under  a  coat  of 
mail,  or  guided  a  lance-thrust  to  an  enemy's  heart. 
In  every  man's  soul  there  is  a  field  of  valor,  lonely, 
perhaps  unknown ;  and  he  is  the  true  knight  who  enters 
the  lists  against  himself  and  strikes  down  every  impulse 
of  man's  nature  that  would  harm  the  woman  he  loves. 
And  how  rich  the  guerdon  of  such  a  victory,  and  the 
recompense  of  the  beloved  one  for  whose  sake  he 
strives  and  conquers! 

The  pitying  world  looks  on  and  measures  the  unwed 
204 


AN    EYE     FOR     AN    EYE 

lovers'  loss,  but  who  can  measure  their  gain  ?  Theirs 
is  the  bliss  which  Psyche  had  before  she  lit  the  fatal 
lamp.  They  hold  forever  in  their  hearts  "  the  con 
secration  and  the  poet's  dream";  and,  undimmed  by 
disillusionment,  the  mirage  of  youthful  love  hovers 
over  each  solitary  path,  lighting  the  twilight  of  age,  the 
night  of  death  and  melting  at  last  into  the  dawn  of 
heaven's  unending  day. 


205 


VII 

THE    REFORMATION 
OF    SAM    AMOS 


vn 


THE  REFORMATION  OF  SAM  AMOS 

ALL  day  the  land  had  lain  dreamily  under  an 
enchantment  soon  to  be  broken  by  the  rude 
counter-spells  of  the  coming  winter. 

A  frost  so  light  that  it  was  hardly  more  than  a  cold 
dew  had  rested  that  morning  on  the  early  chrysanthe 
mums  and  late  roses;  but  the  wind  that  shook  the 
leaves  from  the  crimson  maples  was  a  south  wind;  the 

209 


THE   LAND    OF   LONG   AGO 

midday  sun  held  the  tropic  warmth  of  August,  and  over 
the  brightening  hills  lay  a  tender,  purple  haze.  Summer 
was  dead,  but  its  gentle  ghost  had  come  back  to  the 
earth,  and  it  was  Indian  summer,  the  season  that 
has  no  name  or  place  in  any  calendar  but  the  poet's. 
The  sun  had  set,  and  the  mist  that  veiled  the  horizon 
had  caught  its  last  rays,  holding  the  light  lingeringly, 
fondly,  in  its  folds  and  spreading  it  far  to  the  north 
and  south  in  a  soft  splendor  of  color  that  no  other 
season  can  show.  Not  pink,  not  crimson,  but  such  a 
color  as  an  artist  might  make  if  he  crushed  together 
on  his  palette  the  rose  of  summer  and  the  leaf  of 
autumn.  The  chill  of  the  coming  night  was  in  the 
air,  but  still  we  lingered  at  the  gate,  Aunt  Jane  and  I, 
with  our  faces  toward  the  west. 

"  I  wonder  how  many  folks  are  watchin'  this  sun 
set,"  she  remarked  at  last.  "  Old  Job  Matthews,  after 
he  got  converted  at  the  big  revival  back  yonder  in 
the  thirties,  used  to  look  for  the  second  comin'  of  the 
Lord,  and  every  sunset  and  sunrise  he'd  stand  and 
look  at  the  sky  and  say,  *  Maybe  the  King  of  Glory 
is  at  hand.'  Once  the  old  man  declared  he  saw  a 
chariot  in  the  clouds,  and  it  does  look  like,  child,  that 
somethin*  ought  to  happen  after  a  sight  like  this,  or 

210 


THE    REFORMATION    OF    AMOS 

else  it  ain't  worth  while  to  git  it  up  jest  for  a  few  people 
like  you  and  me  to  look  at." 

As  she  spoke  there  was  a  quick,  sharp  clang  of  hoofs 
on  the  macadamized  road,  and  a  horse  and  rider  passed 
in  the  twilight.  The  clean,  even  gait  of  the  horse  and 
the  outlines  of  its  head  showed  it  to  be  of  noble  blood; 
and  as  it  trotted  past  with  an  air  of  proud  alertness, 
we  could  see  that  the  dumb  animal  realized  the  double 
share  of  responsibility  laid  upon  it.  For  the  hand  that 
held  the  bridle  was  limp  and  nerveless,  the  rider's  head 
was  sunk  on  his  breast,  and  the  brain  of  the  man  that 
should  have  guided  the  brain  of  the  horse  was  locked 
in  a  poison-stupor. 

Long  and  wistfully  Aunt  Jane  gazed  after  the  horse 
and  its  rider,  and  the  gathering  darkness  could  not  hide 
the  divine  sorrow  and  pity  that  looked  out  from  her 
aged  eyes.  Sighing  heavily  she  turned  from  the  gate,  and 
we  went  back  to  the  shadowy  room  where  the  "  unlit 
lamp  "  and  the  unkindled  fire  lay  ready  for  the  evening 
hours. 

The  fireplace  was  filled  with  brush  cleared  that  day 
from  the  flower-beds,  dry  stems  that  had  borne  the 
verdure  and  bloom  of  a  spring  and  now  lay  on  their 
funeral  pyre,  ready  to  be  translated,  as  by  a  chariot 

211 


THE   LAND    OF  LONG   AGO 

of  fire,  into  the  elemental  air  and  earth  from  whence 
they  had  sprung. 

Aunt  Jane  struck  a  match  under  the  old  mantel  and, 
stooping,  touched  the  dead  mass  with  the  finger  of 
flame. 

Ah!  the  first  fires  of  autumn!  There  is  more  than 
light  and  more  than  heat  in  their  radiance.  But  as  I 
watched  the  flames  leap  with  exultant  roar  into  the 
gloom  of  the  old  chimney,  my  heart  was  with  the  lonely 
man  homeward  bound,  his  sorrowful,  helpless  figure 
a  silhouette  against  the  sunset  sky,  and  Aunt  Jane, 
too,  looked  with  absent  eyes  at  the  fire  she  had  just 
kindled. 

"  Yes,  child,"  she  said,  answering  my  thought, 
"  it's  a  sad,  sad  sight;  I've  watched  it  for  a  lifetime 
and  I'm  clean  tired  of  it,  —  seein'  'em  go  out  in  the 
mornin'  straight  and  strong  and  handsome  as  a  Ken 
tucky  man  ought  to  be,  and  comin'  home  at  night  with 
hardly  strength  enough  to  handle  then*  reins,  and  less 
sense  than  the  horse  that's  carryin'  'em.  I  trust  that 
man'll  reach  home  safe,  for  somewhere  up  the  road 
there's  a  woman  waitin'  for  him.  She's  cooked  a  hot 
supper  for  him  and  the  biscuits  are  in  the  pan,  and  she's 
put  the  coffee  on  the  back  o'  the  stove  to  keep  it  from 

212 


THE    REFORMATION    OF    AMOS 

boilin'  too  long,  and  the  meat's  in  the  dish  in  front  o* 
the  stove,  and  she's  lookin'  out  o'  the  window  and  goin' 
to  the  gate  every  few  minutes,  strainin'  her  eyes  and 
her  ears  lookin'  down  the  road  and  listenin'  for  the 
sound  of  a  horse's  feet.  And  maybe  there's  a  baby 
asleep  in  the  cradle,  and  another  child  waitin*  for 
Father;  and  when  he  comes,  the  child'll  run  from  him, 
and  his  wife'll  cry  her  eyes  out,  and  nobody  in  that 
house'll  feel  like  eatin'  any  supper  to-night.  Well, 
may  the  Lord  give  that  woman  grace  to  be  as  patient 
with  her  husband  as  Milly  Amos  was  with  Sam,  and 
maybe  she'll  reap  the  same  reward." 

"Was  Sam  Amos  a  drunkard ?  "    I  asked  in  surprise. 

"  Well,  no,"  said  Aunt  Jane,  judicially,  "  Sam 
wasn't,  to  say,  a  drunkard.  A  drunkard,  according  to  my 
notion,  is  a  man  that's  born  with  whiskey  in  his  veins. 
He's  elected  and  predestined  to  drink,  you  might  say, 
and  he  ain't  to  be  blamed  when  he  does  drink.  Sam 
wasn't  that  sort  of  a  man ;  but  once  in  his  life  it  looked 
mightily  like  he  was  goin'  to  be  a  drunkard.  Sam 
come  of  a  sober  family,  and  there  wasn't  any  manner 
of  reason  for  him  to  take  to  drink,  but  Dr.  Pendleton 
used  to  say  there  was  a  wild  streak  in  nearly  every 
person,  and  sooner  or  later  it  was  bound  to  break  out 

213 


THE   LAND   OF  LONG   AGO 

in  one  way  or  another.  It  was  the  wild  streak  in 
Brother  Wilson,  I  reckon,  that  sent  him  into  the  army 
before  he  went  to  preachin',  and  the  same  wild  streak 
put  it  into  Sam's  mind  to  drink  whiskey,  when  his 
father  and  grandfather  never  touched  it.  How  it 
started  I  don't  know,  but  I  reckon  the  coffee  house 
must  'a'  been  the  beginnin'  of  it.  I  can  ricollect  well 
the  time  when  that  was  opened  in  town.  They  had  a 
sort  of  a  debatin'  society  in  that  day,  —  Lyceum,  they 
called  it,  but  Sam  Amos  called  it  the  Jawin'  Club.  Dr. 
Brigham  and  Judge  Grace  and  Judge  Elrod  and 
Colonel  Walker  and  all  the  big  men  o'  the  town  be 
longed  to  it,  and  they  used  to  meet  in  the  doctor's 
office  and  argue  about  everything  that  was  done  in 
the  town  or  the  State.  One  question  they  had  up  was 
whether  the  Whigs  or  the  Democrats  had  the  best  party, 
and  they  argued  till  pretty  near  one  o'clock  in  the 
mornin',  and  the  meetin'  come  mighty  near  breakin' 
up  in  a  fight.  Well,  when  the  coffee-house  got  its 
license  they  had  a  debate  about  that,  and  Dr.  Brigham, 
he  was  in  favor  of  the  license,  he  got  up  to  make  a 
speech,  and,  says  he,  '  What  would  this  State  be  with 
out  whiskey  ? '  And  Judge  Grace,  he  was  against 
it,  —  he  jumped  up  and  shook  his  fist  at  the  doctor  and 

214 


says  he,  '  A  heap  more  peaceable  place  than  it  is  with 
it.'  And  that  made  the  doctor  mad,  Hut  he  went  on 
like  he  hadn't  heard  it.  Says  he,  '  You  jest  shut  your 
eyes  and  say  the  word  "  Kentucky,"  and  what'll  you 
see  ?  Why,  you'll  see  a  glass  o'  toddy  or  a  mint  julep, 
and  a  pretty  woman  smilin'  over  'em,'  —  and  Judge 
Grace  he  hollers  out,  '  No,  you  won't!  No,  you  won't! 
You  may  see  the  toddy  and  the  julep  and  the  woman, 
but  the  woman  won't  be  smilin';  she'll  be  cryin'  her 
eyes  out  over  the  stuff  that  makes  a  brute  of  her  hus 
band  and  her  son.'  This  made  the  doctor  madder 
still,  but  he  kept  right  on,  and  says  he,  '  Think  of  the 
poetry  that's  been  written  about  wine  and  whiskey  — 

"'"Fill  up,  fill  up 

The  brimmin'  cup  "  — 

and  all  the  rest  o'  the  songs  about  drinkin'!  And  no 
wonder,'  says  he,  '  for  where'll  you  find  a  prettier  sight 
than  a  clear  glass  tumbler  with  a  sprig  o'  mint  and  a 
silver  spoon  in  it  and  two  or  three  lumps  o'  sugar  dis- 
solvin'  in  the  julep?  '  And  the  Judge  says,  'All  right! 
All  right!  Keep  your  toddy  and  your  julep  in  a  glass 
tumbler  and  look  at  'em  and  write  poetry  about  'em, 
and  I  won't  say  a  word  against  'em.  But,'  says  he, 

215 


THE   LAND   OF  LONG   AGO 

'  when  they  get  inside  of  a  man,  where's  your  poetry 
then  ?  '  Says  he,  '  It'll  take  some  mighty  plain  prose 
to  fit  that  situation,'  says  he. 

"  Well,  they  had  it  up  and  down  and  back  and  forth, 
and  finally  their  friends  had  to  hold  'em  to  keep  'em 
from  comin'  to  blows.  But  as  I  was  sayin',  that  coffee 
house  was  the  beginnin'  of  Sam  Amos's  troubles  and 
Milly's.  The  coffee  house  was  a  sociable  sort  of  a  place, 
and  Sam  was  a  sociable  sort  of  a  man,  and  it  was  natu 
ral  for  him  to  go  there  and  see  his  friends  and  talk 
with  'em,  and  the  first  thing  we  knew  he  was  drinkin' 
with  'em;  not  much,  but  enough  to  unsettle  his  brain 
and  make  him  talk  wild  and  act  foolish.  And  he  went 
on  followin'  the  same  old  beaten  track  that  men  'a* 
been  walkin'  since  the  days  of  Noah.  And  at  last  he 
got  to  neglectin'  his  farm,  and  he'd  go  to  town  every 
week  and  come  home  in  such  a  condition  that  it  wasn't 
safe  for  Milly  and  the  children  to  be  in  the  same  house 
with  him.  Folks  used  to  say  that  the  first  drink  made 
Sam  a  fool,  and  the  second  drink  made  him  a  devil, 
and  the  third  drink  put  the  fool  and  the  devil  to 
sleep. 

"  Sam  was  as  smart  a  man  as  you'd  find  anywhere, 
and  many  a  time  I  used  to  feel  for  Milly  when  he'd 

216 


THE    REFORMATION    OF    AMOS 

mortify  her  before  company  by  sayin'  foolish  things 
he  never  would  'a'  said  if  he'd  been  in  his  right  senses. 
I  ricollect  once  she  had  a  parlor  full  o'  company  and 
she  was  showin'  an  ambrotype  of  her  brother  David, 
and  somebody  passed  it  to  Sam  and  he  took  it  and 
looked  at  it  right  hard,  and  says  he,  '  Shuh!  that  don't 
look  half  as  much  like  Dave  as  he  looks  like  himself.' 
And  another  time,  one  county  court  day,  me  and  Abram 
happened  to  be  standin'  on  the  corner  in  front  o'  the 
old  drug  store,  and  Sam  come  a  staggerin'  up  and  laid 
his  hand  on  Abram's  shoulder  and  looked  him  straight 
in  the  eye  like  he  had  somethin'  mighty  important  to 
say,  and  says  he,  '  Uncle  Abram,  I  want  to  tell  you  right 
here  and  now,  and  don't  you  ever  forgit  it;  if  there's 
anything  I  do  despise  it's  one  thing  more'n  another.' 
I  don't  believe  Abram  ever  got  through  laughin'  at 
that.  And  if  Sam  had  only  stopped  at  the  first  glass 
that  made  a  fool  of  him,  his  drinkin'  would  'a'  been 
a  small  matter.  But  the  man  that  can  stop  at  one  glass 
don't  live  in  Kentucky,  child,  and  so  Sam  went  from 
the  first  glass  to  the  second  and  from  the  second  to 
the  third  and  from  that  to  the  gutter.  And  many  a  time 
the  neighbors  had  to  pick  Sam  up  and  bring  him  home, 
for  betwixt  the  shame  of  seein'  him  in  that  condition 

217 


THE   LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

and  the  danger  of  bein'  with  him,  Milly  had  to  stop 
goin'  to  town. 

"  I  ricollect  one  county  court  day  me  and  Abram 
happened  to  be  passin'  along  in  front  o'  the  old  Meth 
odist  Church,  and  Sam  come  walkin'  out  o'  Jockey 
Alley  leadin'  his  big  bay  mare  —  Jockey  Alley,  child, 
is  the  alley  that  runs  from  State  Street  clean  back  to 
the  street  leadin'  over  to  the  old  footbridge,  and  every 
body  that  had  a  horse  or  a  mule  or  a  colt  to  swap, 
why,  they'd  go  to  that  alley  and  do  their  swappin' 
every  county  court  day. 

"  Well,  as  I  was  sayin',  Sam  come  along  leadin'  his 
bay  mare.  That  mare  was  the  pride  of  Sam's  heart. 
He  used  to  say  there  was  more  good  blood  in  that  bay 
mare  of  his  than  in  any  six  families  in  the  state  o' 
Kentucky.  Sam  was  a  mighty  fine  judge  o'  horse 
flesh,  and  he  got  his  love  for  horses  from  his  father  and 
his  grandfather,  old  Harrison  Amos.  The  old  man  was 
one  o'  the  biggest  horse  raisers  in  the  state,  and  he 
made  his  thousands  out  of  it,  too.  But  folks  that  went 
to  his  farm  used  to  say  it  was  like  huntin'  a  hen's  nest 
to  find  the  house  where  the  family  lived,  the  house 
was  so  little  and  there  was  so  many  big  fine  barns 
and  stables.  Somebody  asked  him  once  why  he  didn't 

218 


THE    REFORMATION    OF    AMOS 

build  a  better  house  for  his  children  to  live  in,  and  the 
old  man  says,  *  I  believe  in  puttin'  my  money  where  I 
am  certain  of  gettin'  good  returns.'  Says  he,  *  There's 
no  manner  of  certainty  in  children.  You  can  put  good 
blood  into  a  boy  and  do  your  best  to  bring  him  up  in 
the  way  he  should  go,  and  after  all  you've  spent  on 
him  he'll  lose  every  race  he  goes  into,  and  you'll  find 
you've  got  a  scrub  on  your  hands.  But,'  says  he, 
'  you  breed  a  horse  right,  and  train  him  in  his  gaits 
whilst  he's  young,  and  there  ain't  one  chance  in  a 
thousand  of  your  losin'  money  on  that  horse.  Of 
course,'  says  he,  *  I  think  more  of  my  boys  than  I  do 
of  my  horses,  but  when  it  comes  to  investin'  money,  a 
man  must  be  governed  by  his  judgment  and  his  common 
sense,  not  by  his  feelin's.' 

"  They  said  the  old  man  went  down  to  New  Orleans 
one  winter  on  some  business  and  left  his  son  Joe  in 
charge  o'  the  stock  farm,  and  when  he  got  back  he 
went  out  to  the  stables,  the  first  thing,  to  look  at  his 
horses,  and  when  he  got  through,  there  was  four  of  his 
thoroughbreds  missin'.  And,  says  he,  *  Joe,  where 's 
May  Queen  ?  '  and  Joe  says,  *  Why,  Father,  she's 
dead;  died  right  after  you  left.'  And  the  old  man  said, 
*  Well,  where's  Dixie  Gyirl,'  and  Joe  says,  '  Why, 

219 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

Father,  I'm  mighty  sorry  to  have  to  tell  you,  but  Dixie 
Gyirl,  she's  dead,  —  died  pretty  near  the  same  time 
May  Queen  died.'  And  the  old  man  says,  *  Well, 
where's  Annie  Laurie  and  Nelly  Gray  ? '  And  Joe 
says,  *  Father,  I'm  mighty  sorry,  but  they  died  just 
like  Dixie  Gyirl  and  May  Queen.'  And  the  old  man 
looked  at  Joe  for  a  minute,  and  says  he,  right  slow 
and  earnest,  '  Well,  Joe,  why  didn't  you  die,  too  ? ' 

"  So  that's  where  Sam  got  his  love  o'  fine  horses, 
child,  and,  as  I  was  sayin',  Sam  come  walkin'  up  leadin' 
his  bay  mare  by  the  bridle.  Me  and  Abram  on  our 
way  to  the  drug  store  and  Tige,  our  yeller  house-dog, 
follerin'  close  behind  us,  and  Sam  called  to  us  to  stop, 
and  says  he,  *  Can't  we  make  a  trade  to-day  ?  I'll 
swap  you  my  mare  for  your  dog.'  And  Abram  says, 
'  Done,'  and  he  took  hold  o'  the  mare's  bridle,  and  he 
pulled  a  piece  o'  stout  twine  out  of  his  pocket  and  tied 
it  to  Tige's  collar  and  put  the  end  o'  the  string  in 
Sam's  hand.  I  says  to  him, '  Why,  Abram,  you  wouldn't 
take  advantage  of  a  poor  drunken  man,  and  a  neighbor 
at  that  ?  '  And  Abram  says,  '  Make  yourself  easy, 
Jane,  I'm  only  goin'  to  give  Sam  a  lesson  that  may 
shame  him  out  of  his  drinkin'  habits  for  awhile,  at 
least/  And  then  he  led  the  mare  to  the  stable  and  told 

220 


THE    REFORMATION    OF    AMOS 

the  man  to  feed  her  and  water  her,  and  he'd  call  for 
her  late  that  evenin'. 

"  Well,  when  goin'-home  time  come  round,  we  set 
out  to  look  for  Sam,  and  after  lookin'  all  around  the 
Square  and  up  and  down  Main  Street,  we  found  him 
lyin'  helpless  in  the  back  o'  the  grocery  store.  Abram 
got  two  men  to  help  him,  and  they  managed  to  lift 
him  up  and  put  him  in  the  wagon.  Then  we  drove 
around  to  the  livery  stable  and  got  the  bay  mare  and 
fastened  her  to  the  back  o'  the  wagon  and  started 
home.  When  we  got  to  our  gate,  Abram  put  me  and 
the  children  out  and  turned  Sam's  mare  into  the  horse 
lot,  and  then  he  drove  over  to  Sam's  farm  as  quick 
as  he  could,  for  he  knew  Milly  was  waitin'  and  grievin'. 
And  sure  enough  there  she  was,  standin'  under  the 
big  sycamore  in  front  o'  the  gate,  lookin'  and  listenin* 
for  Sam.  She  told  me  afterwards  she'd  stayed  out  that 
way  many  a  night  till  her  clothes'd  be  wet  with  the 
dew,  and  for  the  rest  of  her  life  she  hated  the  sound 
of  crickets  and  katydids,  because  they  reminded  her 
of  that  year  when  Sam  give  her  so  much  trouble. 

"  Well,  Abram  drove  up  to  the  gate,  and  Milly  was 
too  skeered  to  speak.  She  was  always  worryin'  about 
Sam  fallin'  off  his  horse  and  breakin'  his  neck,  and 

221 


THE   LAND    OF   LONG   AGO 

when  she  saw  Abram  and  nobody  with  him,  she  thought 
he  was  comin'  on  ahead  to  break  the  news  to  her,  and 
Sam's  dead  body  would  be  the  next  thing  to  come. 
Abram  didn't  know  this,  or  he'd  a  told  her  right  at 
once  that  Sam  was  in  the  wagon.  He  said  when  he 
stopped,  Milly  was  leanin'  forward,  her  hands  together, 
and  hardly  enough  breath  to  speak,  and  she  whis 
pered,  '  Where's  Sam  ?  '  And  Abram  says,  '  Right 
here  in  the  wagon.'  And  Milly  says,  'Thank  God! 
I  was  afraid  he  was  dead.'  Now  that  shows  what  kind 
of  a  heart  Milly  had.  When  a  man's  brought  home 
dead  drunk,  child,  it  ain't  every  woman  that'll  thank 
God  he's  alive. 

"  Well,  they  had  some  trouble  rousin'  Sam,  but  at 
last  they  got  him  to  the  house  and  took  off  his  coat 
and  shoes  and  laid  him  on  the  bed,  and  when  Abram 
started  to  go  Milly  says,  '  But  where's  Sam's  mare  ?  ' 
And  Abram  says,  '  When  Sam  comes  to  himself  to 
morrow,  you  send  him  over  to  my  house  and  I'll  put 
him  on  the  track  of  his  mare.'  So  the  next  morn  in' 
about  eleven  o'clock  here  was  Sam  lookin'  about  as 
reckless  and  miserable  as  a  man  ever  gits  to  look,  and 
says  he,  '  I've  come  for  my  mare,  Uncle  Abram;  I  see 
the  stable  door's  open,  so  you  needn't  bother  yourself; 

222 


THE    REFORMATION    OF    AMOS 

I'll  go  down  there  and  saddle  her  and  ride  her  home. 
I'm  much  obliged  to  you,'  says  he,  *  for  takin'  care  of 
her.' 

"  And  Abram  says,  '  Sam,  you  may  not  know  it, 
but  that  mare  belongs  to  me.'  And  Sam  laughed  and 
says  he,  *  I  reckon  I  do  owe  you  somethin'  for  bringin' 
me  home  last  night,  but  you  surely  won't  take  my  horse 
for  that.'  And  Abram  says,  *  But,  Sam,  you  swapped 
that  mare  to  me  yesterday,'  and  Sam  says,  *  Swapped 
her  ?  What  did  I  swap  her  for  ?  '  And  jest  then  old 
Tige  come  around  the  corner  o'  the  house  waggin' 
his  tail,  and  Abram  p'inted  to  him  and  says  he,  *  You 
swapped  your  mare  for  that  dog,  Sam.' 

"  Well,  for  a  minute  Sam  couldn't  say  a  word  he 
was  so  thunderstruck,  and  says  he,  '  Do  you  mean  to 
say,  Uncle  Abram,  that  I  was  such  a  fool  yesterday 
as  to  swap  my  bay  mare,  the  finest  piece  o'  horse  flesh 
in  the  State,  for  that  old  yeller  dog,  and  me  the  best 
judge  of  horses  in  Warren  County  ? '  '  Yes,'  says 
Abram,  *  you  did  that  very  thing,  Sam,  and  the  swap 
was  your  own  proposin'.' 

"  Well,  Sam  set  down  on  the  door  step  and  folded 
his  arms  over  his  knees  and  dropped  his  head  on  his 
arm,  and  he  cursed  himself  and  he  cursed  the  whiskey 

223 


THE   LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

and  he  cursed  the  coffee  house  and  finally,  says  he, 
'  I  swear,  I'll  never  touch  another  drop  o'  the  cursed 
stuff,  and  all  the  devils  in  hell  can't  make  me  break 
my  oath.' 

"  And  Abram  says,  *  Well,  Sam,  I  wanted  to  hear 
you  make  that  promise,  and  that's  why  I  kept  your  mare. 
Now,  go  to  the  stable  and  you'll  find  your  mare  all 
safe  and  sound  and  the  saddle  and  bridle  on  the  right 
hand  side  o'  the  door.  And  may  God  give  you  grace,' 
says  he,  *  to  keep  you  from  ever  makin'  such  a  fool  of 
yourself  again.' 

"  But,  honey,  it  wasn't  a  month  before  Sam  had  to 
be  hauled  home  again  in  a  wagon.  And  finally  it 
got  to  the  pass  that  he  come  home  drunk,  late  one 
Monday  night,  and  struck  Milly  and  kicked  the  chil 
dren  out  o'  the  house,  and  the  next  thing  we  heard 
was  that  Milly's  father  had  come  to  take  her  home. 
Milly  told  me  about  it  long  after  the  trouble  was  over. 
She  said  she'd  been  hopin'  that  the  bruise  on  her  cheek 
would  be  well  before  her  father  saw  her,  and  she'd 
been  puttin'  cold  water  and  hot  water  and  everything 
else  she  could  think  of  on  it  to  draw  the  blood  out, 
but  somebody  told  the  old  man  how  bad  things  had 
been  goin'  with  Milly,  and  it  wasn't  two  hours  till  he 

224 


was  there  with  a  two  horse  wagon  to  move  Milly  back 
home.  Milly  said  Sam  was  sittin'  by  the  table  with 
his  head  down  on  his  arms  and  she  was  washin'  up 
the  dinner  dishes,  and  her  face  bound  up  in  one  o' 
Sam's  handkerchiefs.  The  old  man  come  in,  his  hands 
and  his  lips  tremblin',  and  says  he,  '  Daughter,  put 
your  things  together  as  quick  as  you  can,  I've  come  to 
take  you  back  home.'  Says  he,  'I'm  no  advocate  of 
married  folks  separatin',  but,'  says  he,  'when  Sam 
took  you  from  your  father's  house  he  promised  to  be 
good  and  kind  to  you,  but  he's  broke  his  promise, 
and  you've  got  no  call  to  stay  with  him  any  longer.' 
And  Milly  said  before  she  could  answer  him,  Sam 
raised  up  his  head  from  the  table  and  says  he,  '  That's 
right!  That's  right!  I'm  not  fit  to  be  trusted  with  a 
wife  and  children.  Take  Milly  and  the  boys  with 
you  and  leave  me  to  go  to  the  dogs  where  I  belong.' 
And  Milly 's  father  says,  '  Well,  Samuel,  I'm  glad  you 
think  as  I  do,  for  that  makes  it  easier  for  all  of  us.' 
And  then  he  turns  to  Milly  and  says  he,  '  Hurry  up, 
daughter,  and  get  yourself  ready  to  go  back  home  with 
me.  No  child  of  mine  shall  live  with  a  drunken  brute 
that  lays  violent  hands  on  his  wife  and  children.' 
"  I  reckon  the  old  man  thought  he  was  sayin'  ex- 
225 


THE   LAND    OF   LONG   AGO 

actly  the  right  thing  and  that  Milly  would  thank  him 
for  takin'  her  part.  But  Milly  said  when  her  father 
called  Sam  *  a  drunken  brute  '  she  was  so  mad  she 
lifted  her  hand  to  strike  him,  and  she  run  to  Sam  and 
put  her  arms  around  him,  and  says  she,  *  Father, 
you're  the  only  person  in  this  world  that'd  dare  to 
say  such  a  thing  to  me  about  Sam.'  Says  she,  '  You 
can  take  the  children  if  you  want  to,  for  I  am  afraid 
that  Sam'U  do  them  some  harm,  when  he  ain't  himself, 
but  as  for  me,  my  place,'  says  she,  '  is  right  here  with 
Sam.  Drinkin'  whiskey  is  bad  enough,'  says  she, 
'  but  it  ain't  the  worst  thing  a  man  can  do,  and  it's  not 
what  a  man  does  when  he's  drunk  that  makes  a  woman 
hate  him  and  leave  him,  it's  what  he  does  when  he's 
sober.  And  you  know,'  says  she,  '  that  when  Sam's 
himself  there  ain't  a  kinder,  better  husband  anywhere, 
and  no  matter  what  he  does  when  he's  drunk,  I'll  stay 
with  him  while  We  lasts.' 

"  Milly  said  Sam  give  a  gasp  and  looked  up  at  her 
as  if  he  couldn't  believe  his  ears,  and  then  he  burst 
out  cryin*  and  fell  on  his  knees  and  threw  his  arms 
around  her  and  held  on  to  her  like  a  drownin'  man 
tryin'  to  save  himself.  And  says  he,  '  O  Milly !  Milly ! 
I  didn't  know  you  cared  that  much  for  me!  I've  asked 

226 


THE    REFORMATION    OF    AMOS 

God  to  help  me,'  says  he, '  and  He  didn't  seem  to  care, 
but  if  you  care  enough  to  stay  with  me,  Milly,  I'll 
have  to  quit!  I'll  have  to  quit! '  says  he. 

"  Milly  said  if  it  had  been  little  Sam  holdin'  on  to 
her  and  beggin'  her  to  stay  she  couldn't  'a'  felt  sorrier 
for  him,  and  she  patted  him  on  the  head  and  says  she, 
'  Don't  you  worry,  Sam;  Father  may  take  the  children 
if  he  wants  to,  but  he'll  never  take  me.  Of  course, 
you're  goin'  to  quit  drinkin','  says  she,  '  but  whether 
you  quit  or  not  I'll  stand  by  you,  for  that's  what  a 
wife's  for.' 

"Milly  said  Sam  cried  still  harder,  and  her  father, 
he  wiped  his  eyes  and  says  he,  '  Well,  daughter,  maybe 
you're  right.  Meddlin'  with  married  folks'  affairs 
is  a  poor  business,  anyhow,  and  I'm  more  than  willin' 
to  give  Samuel  another  chance.' 

"So  the  old  man  got  in  his  wagon  and  drove  off, 
and  Milly  said  all  that  day  Sam  stayed  around  the  house 
and  follered  her  about  like  a  dog  follerin'  its  master, 
and  every  now  and  then  he'd  say,  '  I've  got  to  quit, 
Milly,  and  I  will  quit  now.'  Milly  said  she'd  heard 
him  promise  that  so  often  and  break  his  promise  that 
she  didn't  have  a  bit  of  faith  that  he'd  keep  it  now, 
but  of  course  she  didn't  let  him  know  it.  She'd  say, 

227 


THE   LAND    OF   LONG   AGO 

'Why,  of  course  you  will,  Sam,  I've  always  believed 
you'd  quit  sometime.'  And  Sam  says,  '  Keep  on  be- 
lievin'  in  me,  Milly,  and  your  faith '11  save  me.' 

"  Well,  the  very  next  Monday  was  county  court 
day,  and  all  day  Sunday  Milly  told  me  she  was  pray  in' 
that  Sam  would  be  kept  from  goin'  to  town.  But  right 
after  supper  Sam  says,  '  I'm  goin'  to  town  to-morrow, 
Milly.  Make  your  arrangements  for  goin'  with  me  — 
you  and  the  children  —  and  we'll  get  an  early  start.' 

"  Milly  said  she  couldn't  sleep  much  that  night,  and 
she  prayed  that  it  might  pour  down  rain,  or  somethin' 
would  happen  to  keep  Sam  at  home.  But  the  sun 
come  up  clear,  and  there  was  nothin'  to  do  but  dress 
and  go  to  town  with  Sam.  She  said  Sam  took  par 
ticular  pains  with  himself,  put  on  his  Sunday  clothes, 
and  shaved  and  combed  and  brushed  his  hair  till  he 
looked  more  like  his. old  self  than  he'd  looked  since 
he  took  to  drinkin'.  She  said  the  road  to  town  never 
had  seemed  so  short  and  she  kept  hopin'  somethin' 
would  happen  to  send  Sam  back  home,  but  nothin' 
happened,  and  when  they  struck  the  Square,  Sam 
went  right  down  Main  Street  right  in  the  direction 
of  the  coffee  house.  Milly  said  her  heart  give  a  jump 
and  she  shook  all  over  like  she  was  havin'  a  chill,  but 

228 


;  THE    GLASS    BROKE    INTO    A    HUNDRED    PIECES.' 
Page  229. 


THE    REFORMATION    OF    AMOS 

she  didn't  say  a  word,  because  she  knew  if  Sam  had 
made  up  his  mind  to  drink  that  day,  she  couldn't 
stop  him.  And  sure  enough  he  went  on  and  stopped 
right  in  front  of  the  coffee  house.  The  barkeeper  was 
standin'  in  the  door,  and  Sam  called  out  to  him  and 
says,  *  Fix  me  up  a  glass  o'  that  old  Bourbon  the  way 
I  like  it  and  bring  it  out  here  to  me.'  And  the  bar 
keeper  went  in  and  fixed  it  up  and  come  out  with  it, 
smilin'  as  a  basket  o'  chips,  and  handed  it  to  Sam. 

"  Sam  had  his  purse  out  and  says  he,  *  How  much 
is  the  glass  worth  ?  '  And  the  barkeeper  says,  '  About 
five  cents,  I  reckon.'  And  Sam  handed  over  the  money 
for  the  drink  and  the  glass,  and  then  he  held  the  glass 
up  and  looked  at  it,  and  he  put  his  face  down  and 
smelled  it,  and  then  he  put  it  to  his  lips  like  he  intended 
to  drink  it,  and  then  he  turned  around  to  Milly  and  says, 
*  Look  here,  Milly ! '  and  he  dashed  it  down  in  the  gutter, 
and  the  glass  broke  into  a  hundred  pieces,  and  the 
whiskey  spattered  on  the  horse's  hoofs  and  the  bar 
keeper's  shoes.  Milly  said  Sam  was  as  white  as  a  ghost 
and  shakin'  as  hard  as  she  was,  and  he  nodded  to  the 
barkeeper  and  says  he,  '  That's  my  last  drink.'  And 
then  he  turned  around  and  drove  up  the  street  towards 
the  Square. 

229 


THE   LAND   OF   LONG   AGO 

"  Milly  said  she  was  so  thankful  he  hadn't  touched 
the  whiskey  that  she  begun  cryin'  for  joy,  but  still  she 
didn't  know  whether  that  was  his  last  drink  or  not,  he'd 
broken  so  many  promises  to  her  before.  And  Sam 
seemed  to  know  what  was  in  her  mind,  for  he  says 
to  her,  *  Milly,  do  you  believe  me  or  not  ?  '  And  Milly 
said  all  at  once  she  thought  o'  that  text  o'  scripture 
that  says,  '  For  by  grace  are  ye  saved  through  faith.' 
And  she  thought  o'  Sam  the  day  her  Father  come  to 
take  her  home  and  how  he  kept  sayin',  '  Keep  on  be 
lie  vin'  in  me,  Milly,  and  your  faith'll  save  me.'  And 
she  laid  her  hand  on  Sam's  knee  and  says  she,  *  Yes, 
Sam,  I  do  believe  you.'  And  the  minute  she  spoke 
the  word,  she  said  it  looked  like  a  stone  rolled  away 
from  her  heart,  and  she  felt  in  her  soul  that  she'd  come 
to  the  end  of  her  trouble,  and  the  world  appeared  to  be 
made  over  and  made  new.  When  they  got  to  the  Square 
Sam  handed  her  a  roll  o'  bills  and  says  he,  '  Now  go 
and  buy  yourself  and  the  children  some  Christmas 
gifts,  while  I  lay  in  the  groceries  we  need,  and  then 
we'll  meet  at  the  drug  store  and  go  home  whenever 
you're  ready  to  go.' 

"  Milly  said  she  took  the  money  and  bought  things 
for  the  children,  but  when  she  begun  to  look  in  the 

230 


THE    REFORMATION    OF    AMOS 

windows  and  the  show  cases  for  somethin'  for  herself, 
she  couldn't  see  a  thing  that  would  make  her  any 
happier  than  she  was,  so  she  put  the  rest  o'  the  money 
in  the  waist  of  her  dress  and  when  Sam  met  her  in 
front  o'  the  drug  store  she  handed  it  to  him  and  says 
she,  '  I've  bought  the  children  some  things,  but  there's 
no  use  wastin'  money  on  a  woman  who's  got  every 
thing  on  earth  she  wants.'  So  she  wouldn't  let  Sam 
buy  her  a  thing  that  Christmas,  and  yet,  she  said  she 
felt  as  if  she  owned  the  whole  earth. 

"  And,  honey,  when  Sam  dashed  that  glass  o'  whiskey 
to  the  ground  and  said  that  was  his  last  drink,  he  told 
the  truth,  and  if  he'd  been  the  chief  of  sinners  there 
couldn't  'a'  been  more  rejoicin'  over  him  as  the  time 
went  by,  and  everybody  in  Goshen  begun  to  feel  sure 
that  he'd  quit  for  good.  Parson  Page  said  somethin' 
to  him  one  day  about  the  grace  of  God  savin'  him. 
And  Sam  shook  his  head  and  says  he,  '  No,  Parson, 
I'm  certain  God's  too  honest  to  want  credit  that  don't 
belong  to  him,  and  in  the  matter  of  my  quittin'  drink, 
it  wasn't  the  grace  of  God  that  stopped  me,  it  was  the 
grace  of  my  wife,  Milly.'  And  Doctor  Pendleton  was 
standin'  by  and  says  he,  *  Yes,  all  Sam  needed  was  a 
great  moral  uplift.  The  grace  of  God  might  have  given 

231 


THE   LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

it,  but,'  says  he,  *  in  a  case  like  his  there's  no  lever  like 
a  woman's  love.' 

"  But  I  never  got  through  wonderin'  over  the  way 
Milly  bore  with  Sam  in  the  days  when  he  was  walkin' 
the  downward  path  and  it  looked  like  nothin'  could 
stop  him.  Human  nature  is  a  curious  thing,  child. 
You  may  think  you  know  a  person  so  well  that  you 
can  tell  exactly  what  he'll  do,  if  a  certain  thing  happens ; 
but  many  and  many  time  I've  found  myself  mistaken 
about  folks  I'd  known  all  my  life,  and  it  was  that 
way  with  Milly.  Milly  was  high-tempered  and  quick- 
spoken,  and  if  anybody  had  asked  me  how  Milly 

would  act  if  Sam  took  to  drinkin',  I'd  'a'  said  at  once, 

• 

'Why,  she'd  leave  him  that  quick.'  But  she  didn't; 
she  was  as  patient  with  him  as  any  mother  ever  was 
with  her  son.  She'd  put  him  to  bed  and  wait  on  him, 
and  when  he'd  come  to  himself  she'd  never  say  a  word 
about  what  had  happened,  and  I  reckon  it  was  her 
grace  that  saved  him. 

"  And,  it's  another  curious  thing,  child,"  she  con 
tinued,  "  how  two  people '11  live  together  for  years  and 
years  and  never  know  how  much  they  love  each  other. 
Milly  told  me  that  when  Sam  burst  out  cryin'  and 
said  he  didn't  know  she  cared  that  much  for  him,  it 

232 


THE    REFORMATION    OF    AMOS 

come  over  her  all  at  once  that  she  must  'a'  been  a 
mighty  poor  sort  o'  wife  to  him,  for  him  not  to  know 
she  loved  him  well  enough  to  stay  with  him  through 
thick  and  thin.  But  I  reckon  it's  that  way  with  most 
married  folks.  They  jog  along  together,  and  they  have 
their  ups  and  downs,  and  may  be  they  think  many  a 
time  they  don't  love  each  other  like  they  did  when  they 
first  married,  !:ut  jest  let  a  trouble  come  up,  and 
they'll  find  out  that  all  the  love  they  used  to  have  is 
there  yet,  and  more  besides. 

"  I  ricollect  Parson  Page  sayin'  once  that  love  and 
money  was  alike  in  one  respect,  they'd  both  draw 
interest,  and  I  reckon  many  a  married  couple's  richer 
than  they  think  they  are." 

To  find  our  treasure  of  love  greater  than  we  had 
dared  to  dream  —  what  rarer  joy  has  earth  ?  And  when 
the  poor  derelict  soul  clung  to  his  wife  and  found  in 
her  a  help  sufficient  for  his  needs,  his  was  a  rapture 
not  less  profound  than  that  of  the  poet-husband  when 
he  opened  the  sonnets  in  which  a  woman's  soul  had 
poured  itself,  counting  the  ways  and  measuring  the 
depth  and  the  height  of  her  wifely  love. 

Aunt  Jane  pushed  her  spectacles  up  on  her  forehead, 
folded  her  hands,  and  leaned  back  in  her  chair,  lost 

233 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG   AGO 

in  the  reverie  that  generally  followed  the  telling  of  a 
story,  while  I  gazed  at  the  tremulous  fire  light,  and  felt 
the  cord  of  human  sympathy  drawing  me  closer  to  the 
people  of  her  day  and  time. 

As  an  artist  finishes  a  picture,  and  then  goes  lov 
ingly  back  to  strengthen  a  line  or  deepen  a  tint,  so 
every  story  told  by  Aunt  Jane  made  more  vivid  to 
me  her  portraits  of  these  men  and  women  who  were 
the  friends  of  her  youth.  I  had  known  Sam,  the  jovial, 
careless,  sceptical  one;  Milly,  quick  of  temper,  sharp 
of  tongue,  swift  to  act  and  swift  to  repent  —  just  a 
plain  farmer  and  a  plain  farmer's  wife.  But  by  the 
light  of  this  tale  of  triumph  I  saw  them  again.  Sam, 
the  man  who  met  and  vanquished  the  dragon  of  thirst, 
Milly,  the  woman  whose  love  was  strong  enough  to 
hold  and  redeem;  and  in  my  thought  each  rises  to 
heroic  stature  and  stands  touched  forevermore  "  with 
something  of  an  angel  light."  For  it  is  not  battles  that 
drench  the  earth  with  the  blood  of  her  sons,  but  these 
unchronicled  victories  of  the  spirit  that  lift  man  from 
the  clod  to  the  star  and  make  him  even  greater  than 
the  angels. 


234 


VIII 
IN    WAR    TIME 


vin 

IN    WAR     TIME 

THE  sun  that  morning  had  touched  the  gold  of 
the  daffodils  with  promise  of  a  clear  day;  but 
before  it  was  half  way  to  its  meridian  hour,  the  air 
grew  chill,  the  wind  veered  suddenly  to  the  northeast, 
the  sky  darkened  angrily,  and  out  of  the  clouds,  like 
white  petals  from  some  celestial  orchard,  came  a  flurry 
of  great,  soft  snow  flakes  that  rested  for  a  moment  on 

237 


THE   LAND    OF   LONG   AGO 

the  young  grass  and  the  golden  daffodils  and  then  dis 
solved  into  a  gentle  dew,  to  be  gathered  again  into  the 
chalice  of  the  air  and  given  back  to  the  earth  as  an 
April  shower. 

There  was  a  strange,  bewildering  beauty  in  the  scene. 
The  tender,  delicate  foliage  of  early  spring  was  on 
every  bough,  the  long  wands  of  peach  trees  were  pink 
with  bloom,  daffodils  and  hyacinths  sprang  at  our  feet, 
and  we  looked  at  leaf  and  flower  through  a  storm  of 
snow  flakes  that  ceased  as  suddenly  as  it  had  begun, 
and  with  a  brightening  sky  and  a  warmer  wind  it  was 
April  again. 

Aunt  Jane  drew  a  long  breath  of  delight. 

"  Well,  child,"  she  said,  "  there's  always  somethin' 
new  to  be  seen  in  this  world  of  ours.  Old  as  I  am,  I 
never  did  see  exactly  such  a  sight  as  this,  and  maybe 
it'll  be  a  life  time  as  long  as  mine  before  anybody  sees 
it  again.  Such  big,  soft  lookin'  flakes  o'  snow!  It 
looks  like  they'd  be  warm  if  you  touched  'em,  and 

fallin'  all  over  the  flowers  and  young  grass.     Why, 

. 

It's  the  prettiest  sight  I  ever  did  see."     And,  with  a 

lingering  look  at  the  sky  and  the  earth,  Aunt  Jane 
turned  away  and  went  back  to  the  work  of  cleaning 
out  a  closet  in  the  front  room,  a  task  preliminary  to 

238 


IN     WAR     TIME 

the  spring  cleaning  that  was  to  come  a  little  later. 
There  was  a  pile  of  boxes  and  bundles  on  the  floor, 
and  she  was  drawing  strange  things  from  the  depth 
of  the  closet. 

"  Some  o'  these  days,"  she  remarked,  "  there'll 
be  a  house-cleanin'  in  this  house,  and  I  won't  be  here. 
I'll  be  lyin'  out  in  the  old  buryin'  ground  along-side  of 
Abram;  and  my  children  and  grandchildren,  they'll  be 
goin'  through  the  closet  and  the  bureau  drawers  like 
I'm  doin'  to-day,  and  every  time  I  clean  house,  thinks 
I  to  myself:  '  I'll  make  their  work  jest  as  light  as  I 
can ; '  so  I  git  rid  of  all  the  rubbish,  burn  it  up  or  give 
it  away  to  somebody  that  can  use  it.  But  after  all  my 
burnin'  and  givin',  I  reckon  there'll  be  a  plenty  of 
useless  things  left  behind  me.  Here's  this  Shaker 
bonnet;  now  what's  the  use  o'  savin'  such  a  thing? 
But  every  time  I  look  at  it  I  think  o'  Friend  Fanny 
Lacy  and  the  rest  o'  the  old  Shakers,  whose  like  we'll 
never  see  again,  and  somehow  I  keep  holdin'  on  to 
it." 

She  thrust  her  hand  into  the  bonnet,  and  holding 
it  off,  regarded  it  with  a  look  of  deep  affection.  The 
straw  was  yellow  with  age,  and  the  lining  and  strings 
were  faded  and  time-stained;  but  looking  at  it  she 

239 


THE   LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

saw  the  Shakers  in  shining  garments,  going  through 
the  streets  of  the  old  town,  in  the  days  when  the 
spirit  of  Mother  Ann  burned  in  the  souls  of  her  fol 
lowers  and  the  blessing  of  heaven  rested  on  Shakertown. 
Sighing  gently,  she  laid  the  precious  relic  aside  and 
took  up  the  song  she  was  singing  when  I  called  her  to 
the  porch  to  see  the  April  snow-storm.  It  was  Byrom's 
"Divine  Pastoral:" 

The  Lord  is  my  shepherd,  my  guardian  and  guide; 
Whatsoever  I  want  he  will  kindly  provide, 
Ever  since  I  was  born,  it  is  he  that  hath  crowned 
The  life  that  he  gave  me  with  blessings  all  round. 

Thro'  my  tenderest  years,  with  as  tender  a  care, 
My  soul  like  a  lamb  in  his  bosom  he  bare; 
To  the  brook  he  would  lead  me,  whene'er  I  had  need 
And  point  out  the  pasture  where  best  I  might  feed. 

The  Lord  is  my  shepherd;  what  then  shall  I  fear? 
What  danger  can  frighten  me  whilst  he  is  near? 
Not  when  the  time  calls  me  to  walk  through  the  vale 
Of  the  Shadow  of  Death  shall  my  heart  ever  fail; 
Tho'  afraid,  of  myself,  to  pursue  the  dark  way 
Thy  rod  and  thy  staff  be  my  comfort  and  stay, 
For  I  know  by  thy  guidance,  when  once  it  is  past, 
To  a  fountain  of  life  it  will  lead  me  at  last. 

240 


IN     WAR    TIME 

She  sang  it  to  the  cheerful  tune  of  Hinton,  as  oft 
before  when  Parson  Page  had  given  it  out  from  the 
pulpit  of  Goshen  church,  and  she  and  Abram  sat  side 
by  side  singing  from  the  weather-beaten  hymnal  that 
lay  now  near  the  Bible  on  the  centre-table.  I  took  it 
up  and  turned  its  yellow  pages,  wondering  at  the 
queer  "  buckwheat  "  notes  and  reading  the  names  of 
the  old  church  music,  "  Federal  Street,"  whose  tones 
beat  the  air  like  the  wing  of  a  tired  and  home-sick 
angel;  "  Windham,"  that  holds  in  its  minor  strains 
the  melancholy  wails  of  an  autumn  wind;  "  Brattle 
Street,"  whose  rich  full  chords  are  like  a  confession  of 
faith,  —  all  those  old  tunes  that  have  grown  richer  and 
sweeter  by  carrying  heavenward  on  the  wings  of  song 
the  devotion  of  worshipping  souls. 

Suddenly  Aunt  Jane's  voice  ceased  in  the  middle  of  a 
word.  I  looked  up.  She  was  sitting  motionless,  holding 
in  her  hand  a  piece  of  rusty  iron  and  gazing  at  it  with 
tragic  eyes.  As  she  gazed,  that  which  had  been  its 
sheath  fell  from  it  in  flakes,  and  there  before  us,  wasted 
to  half  its  size  by  the  dampness  of  years,  was  the  dull 
ghost  of  a  bayonet  that  once  had  glittered  in  the  sun's 
rays  on  many  a  southern  battle  field. 

"  It's  that  old  bayonet,"  she  said,  slowly  and  sadly. 
241 


THE   LAND    OF   LONG   AGO 

"  I  ricollect  the  day  Abram  plowed  it  up  and  brought 
it  to  the  house.  The  soldiers  camped  all  around  our 
place  durin'  the  war,  and  to  this  day  you  can't  run  a 
furrow  without  turnin'  up  a  minie-ball  or  an  old  canteen 
or  somethin'  o'  the  sort  to  carry  you  back  to  war  times 
and  make  your  heart  ache  for  days  to  come." 

She  ran  her  finger  slowly  down  the  bayonet,  laying 
it  against  the  point,  while  the  lines  in  her  face  deepened 
under  the  shadow  of  bitter  memories. 

"  To  think,"  she  said  at  last,  "  that  human  bein's 
made  in  the  image  o'  God,  men  and  brothers,  would 
make  a  thing  like  this  to  use  against  each  other!  The 
longer  I  live,  child,  the  stranger  that  war  seems  to  me. 
I  couldn't  understand  it  before  it  come  nor  while  it 
was  goin'  on,  and  now,  after  all  these  years,  it's  jest 
as  mysterious  as  it  ever  was.  You  know  it  begun  in 
the  spring,  the  war  did,  and  there's  a  certain  kind  o' 
spring  wind  and  the  way  the  air  smells  that  takes  me 
back  to  the  day  when  the  news  come  to  Goshen  that 
Fort  Sumter'd  been  fired  on;  and  if  I  was  to  live  to 
be  as  old  as  Methuselah,  I  don't  reckon  there 'd  ever 
be  a  spring  that  wouldn't  bring  back  the  spring  of 
'61. 

"  The  comin'  of  war  is  a  curious  thing,  child.  You 
242 


IN    WAR    TIME 

know  how  it  is  when  you're  sittin'  in  the  house  or  on 
the  porch  of  a  summer's  day  doin'  some  piece  o'  work 
and  thinkin'  about  nothin'  but  that  work,  and  the  sun'll 
be  shinin'  out  doors  and  everything  pretty  and  peaceful, 
and  all  at  once  you'll  look  up  and  notice  that  it's 
gittin'  dark,  and  you'll  hear  a  little  thunder  away  off 
yonder  in  the  hills,  and  before  you're  ready  for  it, 
why  the  storm's  broke  and  the  rain's  beatin'  in  at  the 
windows  and  doors  and  the  wind's  blowin'  through  the 
house  and  carryin'  everything  before  it.  Well,  that's 
the  way  the  war  come.  You've  seen  the  seal  o'  this 
State,  haven't  you,  child?  —  two  men  standin*  to 
gether  holdin'  each  other's  hands,  and  the  motto  around 
'em:  *  United  we  stand;  divided  we  fall.'  Well, 
that's  jest  the  way  it  was  in  Kentucky  before  the  war 
come  and  sp'iled  it  all.  Kentuckians  stood  together 
and  loved  each  other,  and  nobody  ever  thought  they 
could  be  divided.  But  all  of  a  sudden  a  change  come 
over  everybody.  Folks  that'd  been  friendly  all  their 
lives  stopped  speakin'  to  each  other;  if  two  neighbors 
come  together  and  stopped  to  talk,  there'd  be  high 
words  between  'em.  and  they'd  both  be  mad  when 
they  parted.  Out  in  our  neighborhood,  instead  o* 
talkin'  about  the  weather  and  the  crops  and  folks' 

243 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG   AGO 

health  and  the  sermon  they'd  heard  Sunday  and  the 
weddin's  that  were  goin'  to  be,  why,  it  was  nothin'  but 
slavery  and  secession  and  union  and  States'  rights, 
and  it  looked  like  there  was  a  two-edged  sword  in 
every  house. 

"  Father  was  mighty  fond  o'  readin*.  He  took  two 
or  three  papers,  and  every  Sunday  mornin'  and  on  their 
way  back  home  from  town  the  neighbors'd  drop  in 
and  hear  the  news;  and  any  time  you'd  pass  his  house 
you'd  see  a  porch  full  o'  men  listenin'  to  Father  readin' 
a  speech  that  somebody'd  made  in  Congress  or  in  the 
legislature,  and  Mother,  she'd  leave  her  work  and  come 
to  the  door  every  now  and  then  and  listen  and,  maybe, 
put  in  a  word. 

"  I  ricollect  hearin'  Father  talk  about  Crittenden's 
big  speech,  the  one  made  in  Congress  when  he  was 
tryin'  to  head  off  the  war.  Father  thought  pretty  near 
as  much  of  Crittenden  as  he  did  of  Clay.  There  never 
was  a  speech  o'  Crittenden's  that  he  didn't  read,  and 
he'd  say,  '  I'd  rather  handle  words  like  that  man  does 
than  to  be  the  King  of  England;  and,'  says  he,  *  it's 
all  jest  like  he  says;  Kentucky  will  stand  by  the 
Union  and  die  by  the  Union.'  Says  he,  *  She  couldn't 
do  otherwise  without  goin'  back  on  her  own  word,  and 

244 


IN     WAR    TIME 

that  word's  cyarved  in  stone  too.  There  it  is,'  says  he, 
*  on  the  block  o'  marble  that  we  sent  to  help  build  the 
monument  at  Washington: 

"  '  The  first  state  to  enter  the  union  will  be  the  last  to 
leave  it.' 

"  Says  he,  *  We  can't  go  back  on  that  word.' 

"  And  then  he  turns  around  to  Mother  and  says  he, 
'  Deborah,  what  do  you  think  about  it  ?  '  I  can  see 
Mother  now.  She'd  been  fryin'  some  meat,  and  she 
turned  around  with  the  fork  in  her  hand  and  looked 
at  Father  a  minute  before  she  answered  him,  and  says 
she,  *  What's  the  use  in  askin'  me  what  I  think  ?  I'm 
nothin'  but  a  woman,  and  what  a  woman  thinks  is 
of  mighty  little  importance.'  Says  she,  *  You  men 
have  got  this  thing  in  your  own  hands,  and  us  women, 
we'll  have  to  put  up  with  whatever  comes.' 

"  I'll  never  forgit  the  day  Father  come  from  town 
with  the  speech  that  Crittenden  made  at  Lexin'ton 
right  after  Fort  Sumter'd  been  taken.  It  was  April, 
and  jest  such  a  day  as  this,  the  flowers  all  comin'  up 
and  the  sky  blue  and  the  bees  hummin'  around  the 
water  maples,  and  it  didn't  look  as  if  there  could  be 
such  a  thing  as  a  war  comin'.  I  was  at  Mother's  that 
day  helpin'  her  take  a  quilt  out  o'  the  frame.  Father 

245 


THE   LAND    OF   LONG   AGO 

come  in,  and  old  Uncle  Haley  Pearson,  my  great-uncle, 
with  him,  and  they  set  down  on  the  porch  and  Father 
read  the  speech  out  loud,  stoppin'  every  now  and  then 
to  explain  somethin'  to  Uncle  Haley,  and  when  he  got 
through  Uncle  Haley  says :  '  Well,  as  near  as  I  can 
make  it  out,  Crittenden  wants  us  to  stand  still  betwixt 
the  North  and  the  South  and  try  to  make  'em  keep  the 
peace;  and  if  we  can't  do  that,  we're  to  get  on  the  fence 
and  stay  there  and  watch  the  fight.'  And  Father  says, 
'  Yes,  that  appears  to  be  about  the  meanin'  o'  what  I've 
been  readin'.'  Says  he,  *  Maybe  I  don't  rightly  under 
stand  it  all,  there's  so  many  big  words  in  it,  but  that's 
about  what  I  make  out  of  it.' 

"  Uncle  Haley  was  leanin'  over  with  both  hands  on 
his  cane,  and  he  shook  his  head  right  slow  and  says  he, 
*  It  appears  to  me  that  Crittenden  ain't  as  well 
acquainted  with  Kentuckians  as  he  might  be,  and  him 
a  Kentuckian  and  a  Senator  too.'  Says  he,  *  There 
ain't  a  man,  or  a  woman  or  a  child  or  a  yeller  dog  in 
Kentucky  but  what's  on  one  side  or  the  other,  and  you 
might  as  well  put  two  game  roosters  in  the  same  pen 
and  tell  'em  not  to  fight  as  to  start  up  a  war  betwixt 
the  North  and  the  South  and  tell  Kentucky  to  keep  out 
of  it.' 

246 


IN     WAR     TIME 

"  And  Uncle  Haley  was  right  about  it.  The  legis 
lature  met  the  very  next  month  and  they  said  jest  what 
Crittenden  said,  that  Kentucky  mustn't  take  sides. 
But  when  it  come  to  the  p'int  o'  goin'  to  the  war  or 
stayin'  at  home  and  lookin'  on,  out  o'  every  hundred 
Kentucky  men  old  enough  to  go  to  the  war  ninety 
of  'em  went  on  one  side  or  the  other.  That's  the 
way  Kentucky  stays  out  of  a  fight,  honey.  I've 
heard  Father  say  that  the  war  cost  Kentucky  thirty 
thousand  lives.  But  that's  jest  the  soldiers;  and  if 
you  go  to  countin'  the  lives  that  was  lost  in  any  war 
you  can't  stop  with  the  soldiers.  There's  my  mother; 
she  never  saw  a  battle-field,  but  the  war  killed  her  the 
same  as  it  did  my  two  brothers." 

Here  Aunt  Jane  removed  her  glasses  and  leaned  back 
in  her  chair.  By  these  signs  I  knew  there  was  to  be 
a  digression  in  the  course  of  the  story. 

"  I  wish  I  could  make  you  see  jest  what  kind  of  a 
woman  Mother  was,"  she  said  thoughtfully.  "  Every 
generation's  different  appearin'  from  the  one  that  comes 
before  it  and  the  one  that  comes  after  it.  I'm  my 
mother's  own  child.  Folks  used  to  say  I  had  Mother's 
eyes  and  Mother's  hair,  but  I'm  a  mighty  different 
woman  from  Mother.  And  my  daughters  are  jest  as 

247 


THE   LAND   OP  LONG  AGO 

different  from  me,  and  as  for  my  granddaughters, 
why,  you  wouldn't  know  they  was  any  kin  to  me. 
I'm  a  plain  old  woman  and  my  granddaughters  are 
fine  ladies.  My  grandmother,  you  know,  was  the  old 
pioneer  stock,  and  Mother  was  her  oldest  child,  and 
she  was  somethin'  like  the  pioneer  women  herself. 
I  ricollect  when  I  was  at  that  meetin'  of  clubs  in  Lexin'- 
ton,  the*  time  I  went  to  see  Henrietta,  one  lady  got  up 
and  said  that  a  woman  ought  to  be  somethin'  besides 
a  mother.  I  reckon  that's  right  for  this  day  and  genera 
tion,  but  if  you'll  go  back  to  my  mother's  day  and  my 
grandmother's  day,  you'll  find  that  if  a  woman  was  a 
mother  then,  she  didn't  have  time  to  be  anything  else. 
Bringin'  a  family  o'  children  into  the  world  and  takin' 
care  of  'em,  cookin'  for  'em,  sewin'  for  'em  and  spinnin' 
and  weavin'  the  cloth  for  their  clothes  —  that's  the 
way  Mother  did.  She  was  jest  a  mother,  but  that  was 
enough.  You  know  that  Bible  text,  '  Greater  love  hath 
no  man  than  this,  that  he  lay  down  his  life  for  his 
friend.'  I  always  think  o*  that  text  when  I  think  o' 
the  old-time  mothers;  they  had  to  give  up  their  lives 
for  their  children. 

"  Mother's  name  was  Deborah,  and  I  always  thought 
that  name  suited  her.    She  was  taller  and  stronger  than 

£48 


IN     WAR    TIME 

the  common  run  o'  women,  and  Father  used  to  laugh 
and  say  he  believed  she  was  half  sister  o'  the  Deborah 
in  the  Bible,  the  one  that  judged  Israel,  and  that  was 
'  A  mother  in  Israel.'  Father  always  looked  up  to 
Mother  and  asked  her  advice  about  things,  and,  as 
for  us  children,  Mother's  word  was  our  law.  She  ruled 
us  and  judged  us  like  the  Deborah  in  the  Bible,  but  I 
can  look  back  now  and  see  that  there  never  was  any 
love  greater  than  my  mother's  love  for  her  children. 
Of  course  a  mother,  if  she's  the  right  kind  of  a  mother, 
will  love  all  her  children  jest  because  they're  hers. 
But  then,  over  and  above  that  sort  o'  love,  she'll  love 
each  one  on  account  o'  somethin'  that  it  is  or  somethin' 
that  it  does,  and  that  way  every  child  has  a  different 
sort  o'  love,  and  maybe  one  child  '11  have  a  little  bit 
more  love  than  the  rest.  We  always  accused  Mother 
of  bein'  partial  to  my  two  brothers,  Jonathan  and  David, 
and  Mother  never  denied  it.  She'd  laugh  and  say, 
'  Well,  what  if  I  am  ?  The  rest  of  you  ain't  mistreated, 
are  you  ?  '  And  when  I  ricollect  how  brother  David 
and  brother  Jonathan  looked  and  what  kind  o'  men 
they  were,  I  can't  blame  Mother  for  bein'  a  little 
prouder  and  a  little  fonder  o'  them  than  she  was  o' 
the  rest  of  us.  Mother  always  called  'em  her  twins, 

249 


THE   LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

because  there  was  jest  a  little  over  a  year  betwixt 
'em  and  mighty  little  difference  in  their  size.  David 
was  the  oldest,  and  Mother  named  him  for  her 
father;  and  when  Jonathan  was  born  she  said,  '  Now, 
I've  got  a  Jonathan  for  my  David.  And,'  says  she, 
'  Maybe  they'll  be  good  boys  and  love  each  other  like 
David  and  Jonathan  did.'  You  ricollect  what  the 
Bible  says :  '  The  soul  of  Jonathan  was  knit  with  the 
soul  of  David;  and  Jonathan  loved  him  as  his  own 
soul,'  and  when  Jonathan  was  killed  you  ricollect 
how  David  said,  '  Thy  love  to  me  was  wonderful, 
passing  the  love  of  woman.' 

"  And  sure  enough,  child,  that's  the  way  it  was  with 
my  two  brothers.  Their  souls  appeared  to  be  knit 
together,  and  they  loved  each  other  with  a  love  '  pas- 
sin'  the  love  of  woman.' 

"  The  rest  of  us  children  used  to  fall  out  now  and 
then,  like  children  will,  even  when  they  love  each  other, 
but  David  and  Jonathan — why,  there  never  was  a  cross 
word  or  hard  feelin'  between  'em,  and  it  was  the  prettiest 
sight  in  the  world  to  see  them  two  boys  walkin'  together 
holdin'  each  other's  hands  and  laughin*  and  talkin' 
like  sweethearts.  I  ricollect  once  they  was  sittin'  on 
a  bench  readin'  out  o'  the  same  book,  and  Mother 

250 


IN     WAR    TIME 

looked  at  'em  awhile,  and  says  she  to  Father,  '  Do  you 
reckon  there's  anything  in  this  world  that  can  ever 
come  betwixt  David  and  Jonathan  ?  '  And  Father 
he  laughed,  and  says  he,  '  Yes,  there's  one  thing  that 
can  come  betwixt  any  two  men  God  ever  made.'  And 
Mother  says,  '  What  is  it  ?  '  And  Father  laughed  again 
—  he  always  liked  to  tease  Mother  —  and  says  he, 
'  Why,  a  woman,  of  course.'  Says  he,  '  Jest  let  them 
two  boys  fall  in  love  with  the  same  woman  and  that'll 
put  a  stop  to  all  this  David  and  Jonathan  business.' 

"  But  it  wasn't  a  woman  that  come  between  my 
brothers,  it  was  the  war.  It  was  a  long  time  before  the 
family  found  out  that  David  and  Jonathan  didn't 
think  alike  about  States'  rights ;  and  when  we  did  find 
out,  we  paid  mighty  little  attention  to  it,  for  we  thought 
they'd  come  to  an  agreement  about  this  jest  as  they  had 
about  every  other  question  that'd  ever  come  up  between 
'em.  But  when  the  President  made  his  first  call  for 
soldiers,  David  and  Jonathan  both  went  to  Mother 
and  asked  her  consent  to  enlist.  They  was  of  age  and 
might  'a'  done  as  they  pleased.  But  as  long  as  one  of 
us  children  stayed  under  Father's  roof,  we  never  took 
a  step  of  any  importance  that  we  didn't  first  ask 
Mother's  consent. 

251 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

"  Well,  Mother  looked  at  'em  awhile,  standin' 
before  her  so  tall  and  strong  and  handsome,  and  she 
says,  *  My  sons,  you'll  never  have  my  consent  to  go  in' 
in  the  army.'  And  David  and  Jonathan  looked  at 
each  other,  and  then  David  spoke.  *  Well,  Mother,' 
says  he,  '  if  you  won't  give  your  consent,  we'll  have  to 
go  without  it.'  And  Mother  says,  '  You  boys  never 
disobeyed  me  in  your  lives,  are  you  goin'  to  disobey 
me  at  this  late  day  ?  '  And  David  says,  *  No,  Mother, 
we're  goin'  to  obey  you,'  says  he.  *  You've  told  us  from 
our  youth  up  that  we  must  listen  to  the  voice  of  con 
science  and  do  whatever  we  thought  was  right,  —  I 
think  one  way  about  this  matter  and  Jonathan  thinks 
the  other,  but  we're  both  listenin'  to  the  voice  of  con 
science  and  doin*  what  we  think  is  right  jest  as  you 
taught  us  to  do.' 

"  Well,  of  course,  Mother  couldn't  answer  that,  and 
so  the  word  went  out  that  David  and  Jonathan  was 
goin'  to  enlist,  and  all  the  married  brothers  and  sisters 
gethered  at  the  old  home  place  to  say  farewell  to  'em. 

"  Maybe  you  know,  child,  how  you  feel  the  mornin' 
after  there's  been  a  death  in  the  house.  It  hardly 
seems  worth  while  to  do  any  thing,  for  your  heart's  in 
the  coffin  in  the  dark  room,  but  you  go  on  and  cook 

252 


IN     WAR     TIME 

and  put  the  house  in  order  and  try  to  eat  the  same  as 
if  nothin'  had  happened.  And  that's  the  way  we 
all  felt  the  morn  in'  my  brothers  went  to  the  war. 
Mother  wouldn't  let  anybody  help  her  cook  breakfast. 
Says  she,  '  It's  the  last  thing  I  can  do  for  my  boys, 
and  I  don't  want  any  help.'  So  she  cooked  the  break 
fast  and  waited  on  the  boys  and  watched  'em  while 
they  eat,  the  same  as  she'd  been  doin'  all  their  lives. 
And  when  the  meal  was  over,  Father  was  at  the  gate 
with  the  wagon  to  take  'em  to  town  to  catch  the  mornin' 
train  to  Louisville,  and  from  there  Jonathan  had  to 
go  to  Camp  Joe  Holt  over  in  Indiana  —  that's  where 
the  Federals  had  their  recruitin'  place  —  and  David, 
he  was  to  go  to  Camp  Boone  in  Tennessee.  All  of  us 
went  out  to  the  gate  to  say  farewell,  and  there  wasn't 
a  tear  dropped  nor  a  useless  word  said.  If  one  had 
cried  we'd  all  'a'  cried.  But  we  saw  that  Mother 
was  holdin'  her  tears  back,  so  we  all  did  the  same.  And 
we  stood  and  looked  till  the  wagon  was  out  o'  sight, 
and  then  everybody  went  back  to  the  house  feelin' 
as  if  we'd  jest  come  back  from  a  buryin'.  Well,  from 
that  day  on,  all  we  lived  for  was  to  hear  the  news  from 
the  battles  and  find  out  which  side  beat.  Some  o' 
the  neighbors*was  on  the  side  o'  the  North  and  some  on 

253 


THE   LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

the  side  o'  the  South,  and  one  could  rejoice  to-day  and 
another  one  to-morrow,  and  one  was  pray  in'  for  Lee 
and  the  other  for  Grant,  but  Mother  she'd  say,  '  It's 
all  one!  It's  all  one!  There's  no  rejoicin'  for  me  no 
matter  which  side  wins,  and  the  only  prayer  I  can 
pray  is  "  Lord!  Lord!  put  an  end  to  this  war  and  give 
me  back  my  boys." *  People  used  to  come  over  and  talk 
to  Mother  and  try  to  make  her  see  things  different. 
Uncle  Haley  says  to  her  once,  says  he,  '  Deborah, 
can't  you  think  o'  your  country?  There's  a  great 
question  to  be  settled.  Nobody  knows  which  is  the 
strongest,  the  government  up  yonder  at  Washin'ton, 
or  the  government  down  yonder  in  South  Carolina 
and  right  here  in  Kentucky.  It's  a  big  question,'  says 
he,  '  and  it's  been  botherin'  this  country  ever  since  it's 
been  a  country,  and  this  war's  goin'  to  settle  it  one  way 
or  the  other  for  good  and  all,  and  no  matter  which  side 
a  man's  fightin'  on, he's  doin'  his  part  in  the  settlement.' 
Says  he,  '  You've  got  a  son  on  each  side,  and  you  ought 
to  feel  proud  and  glad  that  you're  doin'  so  much  for 
your  country.'  And  Mother's  eyes'd  flash  and  she'd 
say,  *  Country!  You  men  never  told  me  I  had  a  country 
till  you  got  up  this  war  and  took  my  sons  away  from 
me.  I'm  nothin'  but  a  poor  old  woman  that's  spent  her 

254 


IN     WAR    TIME 

life  raisin'  up  a  family,  and  what's  a  country  to  me 
unless  I've  got  my  sons  ?  ' 

The  mother-heart!  It  beats  to  the  same  measure, 
be  it  Garibaldi's  time  in  Italy  or  war-time  in  Ken 
tucky. 

And  when  Italy's  made,  for  what  end  is  it  done 
If  we  have  not  a  son? 

When  you  have  your  country  from  mountain  to  sea, 
When  King  Victor  has  Italy's  crown  on  his  head. 
(And  I  have  my  dead.) 

"  If  David  and  Jonathan  had  been  on  the  same  side," 
continued  Aunt  Jane,  "  it  would  'a'  been  easier  for 
Mother;  but  she  used  to  say  it  was  like  havin'  her 
heart  torn  in  two,  and  one  half  of  it  was  with  David 
and  the  other  half  with  Jonathan,  and  she  worried 
herself  nearly  crazy  over  the  fear  that,  one  of  her 
boys  might  kill  the  other.  And  the  fightin'  kept  on, 
the  battles  longer  and  harder  all  the  time,  —  Manassas 
and  Fort  Donaldson  and  Pea  Ridge  and  Mill  Spring, 
and  there  was  hardly  a  time  when  it  wasn't  Kentuckian 
against  Kentuckian,  and  at  last  come  the1  battle  o' 
Shiloh." 

On  that  fatal  word  Aunt  Jane's  voice  broke.  She 
255 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

turned  away  from  me  and  covered  her  face  with 
her  apron,  and  there  was  a  long  pause.  The  rains 
of  more  than  forty  springs  had  cleansed  the  earth  from 
the  taint  of  blood;  grass  and  flowers  and  grain  were 
growing  over  the  old  battle-field;  but,  like  the  wand  of 
a  wizard,  the  rusty  bayonet  had  waved  out  of  sight 
and  out  of  mind  the  decades  of  peace,  and  her  tears 
flowed  for  a  grief  too  deep  to  be  healed  by  the  flight  of 
mortal  years. 

Presently,  with  trembling  hands  she  began  arrang 
ing  the  boxes  and  bundles  on  the  shelves.  There  were 
no  unfinished  tasks  in  Aunt  Jane's  life;  the  closet 
must  be  cleaned,  and  a  story  once  begun  must  be 
told  to  the  end.  She  steadied  her  voice  and  went 
on. 

"  You  know,  honey,"  she  said,  "  the  battle  o' 
Shiloh  lasted  two  days  and  the  evenin'  of  the  first  day 
a  curious  thing  happened.  Mother  was  stayin'  with 
me,  for  Father  was  with  the  home  gyards,  and  in  them 
days  the  women  had  to  huddle  up  together  and  protect 
each  other  the  best  they  could.  I  was  in  the  kitchen 
cookin'  supper,  and  Mother  was  in  the  front  room 
sittin*  in  her  old  rockin'  chair  by  the  winder  lookin' 
out  at  the  pretty  sky,  when  the  sun  had  about  gone 

256 


"'DAVID!    JONATHAN!    MY  BOYS!    WHERE  ARE  YOU?'" 

Page  257. 


IN     WAR    TIME 

down.  I  could  hear  her  rockin'  and  the  old  chair 
creakin'.  Pretty  soon  it  got  so  dark  I  couldn't  see  what 
I  was  doin',  and  I  lit  a  candle,  and  jest  as  I  was  settin' 
it  on  the  shelf  above  the  table,  I  heard  Mother  give  a 
cry  and  go  runnin'  to  the  front  door.  I  picked  up  the 
candle  and  went  out  to  see  what  was  the  matter,  but 
as  I  opened  the  door  o'  the  front  room  a  gust  o'  wind 
blew  out  the  candle,  and  I  run  out  in  the  dark,  and 
there  was  Mother  standin'  in  the  door  leanin'  forward 
as  if  she  was  lookin'  and  listenin',  and  before  I  could 
git  to  her  she  rushed  out  on  the  porch  and  around  the 
house  callin'  'David!  Jonathan!  My  boys!  Where 
are  you  ?  ' 

"  I  thought  certain  Mother  had  lost  her  mind,  and 
I  went  after  her  and  caught  her  by  the  arm,  and,  says 
I,  *  Mother,  what  on  earth's  the  matter  ?  Come  back 
in  the  house;  you're  gittin'  your  feet  all  wet  with  the 
dew.'  And  she  jerked  away  from  me  and  went  on 
clear  around  the  house  lookin'  in  every  dark  place 
under  the  trees  and  the  vines  and  callin'  her  boys. 
And  when  she  got  to  the  front  door  again,  she  stopped 
and  said  to  me,  *  Jane,  didn't  you  hear  the  foot-steps  ?  ' 
And  I  says,  *  What  foot-steps,  Mother  ?  '  and  she  says, 
'  Why,  Jonathan  and  David's,  of  course.'  Says  she, 

257 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG   AGO 

'  I  heard  'em  comin'  up  the  front  walk  jest  like  I've 
heard  'em  a  hundred  times  before,  comin'  in  from  the 
field  at  night.'  And  she  started  around  the  house  again, 
and  says  she,  '  May  be  they're  hidin'  out  somewhere 
tryin'  to  surprise  me.' 

"  Well,  it  was  the  longest  time  before  I  could  persuade 
Mother  to  come  in,  and  all  the  evenin'  she  talked 
about  the  footsteps  and  how  plain  they  sounded,  and 
every  now  and  then  she'd  go  to  the  door  and  look  and 
listen  and  call  their  names. 

"  God  only  knows  what  she  heard,  but  the  next  day 
we  got  news  of  the  fightin'  at  Shiloh,  and  David  was 
there  with  General  Johnston,  and  Jonathan,  he  was 
with  Grant.  " 

She  turned  away,  and  again  there  was  a  long  silence. 
To  me  who  listened  the  war  was  but  a  story  on  a 
printed  page,  but  to  her  who  told  the  tale,  it  was  a 
chapter  of  life  written  in  tears  and  blood,  and  better 
for  Aunt  Jane  if  the  old  bayonet  had  lain  forever  in 
the  soil  of  the  far  field.  But  again  she  took  up  the 
story. 

"  I've  heard  folks  say,  child,  that  the  funeral's  the 
saddest  thing  about  a  death ;  but  it's  a  sadder  thing  to 
have  a  death  without  a  funeral. 

258 


IN     WAR     TIME 

"  You  ricollect  me  tellin'  you  about  that  picture  I 
saw  at  Henrietta's,  '  The  Angelus  ?  '  Well,  there  was 
another  picture  I'll  never  forgit  as  long  as  I  live.  It 
was  a  picture  of  Rizpah.  I  reckon  you  know  who 
Rizpah  was;  you  ought  to  know,  any  how." 

Aunt  Jane  looked  inquiringly  at  me  and  paused  for 
a  reply.  Rizpah?  Rizpah?  Yes,  somewhere  I  had 
heard  that  stately  name,  but  where  ?  Was  it  in  Greece 
or  Rome  or  France  or  Italy  ?  Juliet  I  knew,  and 
Octavia  and  Iphigenia  and  Aspasia  — 

Had  Rizpah  any  kinship  to  these?  Aunt  Jane's 
eyes  were  searching  my  face. 

"  Honey,"  she  said  gravely,  "  you  might  jest  as  well 
own  up  that  you  don't  know  who  Rizpah  was.  That 
comes  o'  parents  not  makin'  their  children  read  the 
Scriptures.  When  I  was  a  child  we  had  to  read  our 
Bibles  every  Sunday  evenin'  till  pretty  near  sundown. 
I  can't  say  we  enjoyed  it  much,  but  when  we  grew  up 
we  didn't  have  to  blush  for  shame  when  anybody  asked 
us  a  Bible  question.  Now,  you  take  my  Bible  yonder 
on  the  table,  and  find  the  second  book  of  Samuel.  I 
can't  be  expected  to  ricollect  exactly  the  chapter  or  the 
verse,  but  you  look  around  in  that  book  till  you  see 
Rizpah 's  name  and  then  read  what  it  says." 

259 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

I  made  a  hasty  search  for  the  passage  and  presently 
found  it: 

"  But  the  King  took  the  two  sons  of  Rizpah,  the 
daughter  of  Aiah,  whom  she  bare  unto  Saul,  Armoni 
and  Mephibosheth;  and  the  five  sons  of  Michal  the 
daughter  of  Saul,  whom  she  brought  up  for  Adriel 
the  son  of  Barzillai  the  Meholathite;  and  he  delivered 
them  into  the  hands  of  the  Gibeonites,  and  they  hanged 
them  in  the  hill  before  the  Lord:  and  they  fell  all 
seven  together,  and  were  put  to  death  in  the  days  of 
harvest,  in  the  first  days,  in  the  beginning  of  barley 
harvest. 

"  And  Rizpah,  the  daughter  of  Aiah,  took  sackcloth, 
and  spread  it  for  her  upon  the  rock,  from  the  beginning 
of  harvest  until  the  water  dropped  upon  them  out  of 
heaven,  and  suffered  neither  the  birds  of  the  air  to  rest 
on  them  by  day,  nor  the  beasts  of  the  field  by  night." 

"  There!  "  said  Aunt  Jane,  "  that's  Rizpah.  Now 
try  to  remember  that  story,  child.  You  couldn't  help 
rememberin'  it  if  you'd  ever  seen  the  picture.  It  was 
an  awful  thing  to  look  at,  but  somehow  if  you  looked 
at  it  once  you  couldn't  help  goin'  back  to  it  again. 
There  was  the  sky  and  the  light  breakin'  through  the 
clouds.  I  never  could  tell  whether  it  was  right  after 

260 


IN     WAR     TIME 

sundown  or  jest  before  sunrise  —  and  the  dead  bodies 
hangin'  from  the  limbs  o'  the  trees,  stiff  and  straight, 
and  Rizpah  fightin'  off  the  vultures  with  a  club,  her 
long  black  hair  streamin'  down  her  back  and  her  eyes 
blazin'  like  coals  of  fire.  The  minute  I  looked  at  that 
picture,  I  says  to  myself,  *  That's  Mother.'  Many 
a  night  she'd  dream  of  seein'  the  bodies  of  her  sons 
lyin'  on  the  battle-field  and  the  birds  pickin'  the  flesh 
from  their  bones,  and  she'd  wake  up  cryin'  and  wring 
her  hands  and  say,  *  If  I  could  only  know  that  their 
bodies  was  buried  safe  in  the  ground,  I  could  stand 
it  better.'  But  we  never  did  know,  and  —  it's  a  curious 
thing,  honey  —  when  you  don't  see  the  dead  buried 
you  never  can  be  right  sure  that  they  ain't  alive  yet 
somewhere  or  other  on  this  earth. 

"  The  footsteps  never  come  again,  but  all  her 
life  Mother  listened  for  'em,  and  I  hope  and  trust  that 
when  she  got  to  the  other  side,  the  first  thing  she 
heard  was  the  steps  of  her  boys  comin'  towards  her 
jest  like  they  used  to  come  before  the  war  parted 
'em." 

She  dried  her  eyes  once  more  on  the  gingham  apron 
and  tried  to  smile  at  me  in  her  usual  way,  but  the 
smile  would  not  come. 

261 


THE   LAND    OF   LONG   AGO 

"  This  ain't  the  right  kind  of  a  story  to  tell  you, 
honey,  on  a  pretty  spring  day,"  she  said  brokenly, 
"  and  I  never  set  out  to  tell  it.  But  that  old  bayonet 
got  me  started,  and  before  I  knew  it  I  was  right  back 
in  war  times  livin'  it  all  over.  And  while  I'm  about 
it,  there's  one  more  story  I'm  goin'  to  tell  you,  whether 
you  want  to  hear  it  or  not.  It's  about  Elizabeth  Tay 
lor.  I  reckon  I've  told  you  Sally  Ann's  experience, 
haven't  I  ?  And  if  you  ricollect  that,  you'll  know  who 
Elizabeth  Taylor  was. 

"  Elizabeth  felt  different  from  Mother  about  the  war. 
She  was  strong  for  States'  rights,  and  when  Harrison, 
the  only  son  she  had,  went  into  the  army,  he  went  with 
her  blessin'  and  consent,  and  he  made  a  mighty  brave 
soldier,  too.  I  ricollect  the  day  'Lizabeth  come  over 
to  tell  us  about  Harrison  bein'  promoted  at  the  battle 
o'  Port  Gibson.  You've  heard  o'  the  battle  o'  Port 
Gibson,  haven't  you,  honey  ?  That  was  another  time 
when  they  fought  all  day  long.  I've  heard  Harrison  say 
the  first  gun  was  fired  before  daylight,  and  when  they 
give  up  and  begun  fallin'  back,  it  was  gittin'  on  towards 
dusk.  Harrison  said  his  officers  went  down  one  by 
one,  first  the  captain  and  then  the  lieutenants,  and 
when  the  last  one  fell,  he  up  and  took  charge  o'  things 

262 


IN     WAR     TIME 

himself  jest  like  he'd  seen  the  captain  do;  and  when 
they  found  they  had  to  give  up  the  fight,  Harrison 
somehow  or  other  managed  to  carry  away  two  cannons 
out  o'  the  six  they'd  been  workin'  that  day,  and  with 
these  two  he  kind  o'  kept  the  Yankees  off  while  the 
men  fell  back,  and  if  it  hadn't  been  for  that  they'd  'a' 
been  cut  all  to  pieces.  Harrison  was  nothin'  but  a 
striplin',  not  out  of  his  teens,  but  he  went  into  that 
battle  a  sergeant  and  he  come  out  of  it  a  captain. 
'Lizabeth  was  the  proudest,  gladdest  woman  you  ever 
saw;  says  she, '  I've  had  a  hard  life,  but  this  pays  me  for 
all  my  troubles.' 

"  But  what  I  set  out  to  tell  you  was  somethin'  'Liza 
beth  herself  did,  not  what  Harrison  did.  It  was  along 
towards  the  close  of  the  war,  the  summer  of  '64.  One 
evenin'  in  July  a  squad  o'  Yankee  soldiers  come  gal- 
lopin'  along  the  pike  about  dark,  and  camped  over 
in  the  fields  back  of  'Lizabeth 's  house.  'Lizabeth  said 
she  went  up  in  the  garret  and  looked  out  o'  the  window, 
and  she  could  see  'em  lightin'  their  camp-fires  and 
feedin'  their  horses  and  cookin'  supper.  There  wasn't 
a  soul  on  the  place  with  her  except  old  Aunt  Dicey 
and  Uncle  Jake.  'Lizabeth 's  brother  was  a  slave 
owner,  and  when  Harrison  went  to  the  war  he  sent 

263 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

Aunt  Dicey  and  her  husband  over  to  'Lizabeth's  to 
watch  over  her  and  keep  her  company. 

"Well,  that  night  'Lizabeth  said  she  didn't  feel 
much  like  sleepin',  not  knowin'  but  what  the  soldiers 
might  come  at  any  minute  to  search  the  house  or 
maybe  set  it  on  fire.  But  she  said  her  prayers  and 
was  almost  fallin'  off  to  sleep  when  she  happened  to 
think  of  some  powder  that  Harrison  had  hid  over  hi 
that  field.  Harrison  was  mighty  fond  of  huntin',  and 
always  kept  a  big  supply  o'  powder  on  hand,  and  the 
day  before  he  went  to  the  war  he  carried  the  can  over 
to  that  field  and  hid  it  in  a  holler  tree.  '  For,'  says 
he,  '  I  don't  propose  to  be  furnishin'  ammunition  to 
the  Yankees.'  'Lizabeth  said  her  heart  stopped 
beatin'  when  she  thought  o'  that  powder  and  the  fires 
all  around,  and  the  ground  covered  with  dry  grass  and 
leaves.  And  she  thought, '  Suppose  the  grass  and  leaves 
should  catch  a  fire  and  the  fire  spread  to  the  tree,' 
and  she  got  up  and  put  on  her  clothes  and  went  to 
the  garret  again  and  looked  out  o'  the  window,  and 
she  could  see  a  fire  right  near  where  she  thought  the 
old  holler  tree  was  standin',  and  her  conscience  says 
to  her,  *  If  anybody's  killed  by  that  powder  blowin' 
up  whose  fault  will  it  be  ?  '  She  said  she  knew  she 

264 


IN    WAR    TIME 

ought  to  go  and  git  the  powder,  but  the  very  thought 
o'  that  made  her  shake  from  head  to  foot.  And  she 
went  back  to  bed  and  tried  to  sleep,  but  when  she 
shut  her  eyes  all  she  could  see  was  a  fire  spreadin' 
amongst  the  leaves  and  grass  and  creepin'  up  to  an 
old  holler  tree,  and  she  thought  how  every  one  o'  them 
soldiers  lyin'  there  asleep  had  a  mother  and  maybe  a 
wife  and  a  sister  that  was  prayin'  for  'em.  And  all 
at  once  somethin'  said  to  her,  '  Suppose  it  was  your 
boy  in  this  sort  o'  danger;  wouldn't  you  thank  any 
woman  that'd  go  to  his  help  ?  '  And  then  she  saw 
in  a  minute  that  there  wasn't  but  one  thing  for  her 
to  do:  she  must  go  and  take  that  powder  out  o'  the 
holler  tree  and  put  it  out  o'  the  reach  o'  fire.  So  she 
threw  an  old  shawl  over  her  head  and  went  out  to 
the  cabin  and  called  Uncle  Jake,  and  asked  him  to 
go  with  her  across  the  field  betwixt  the  house  and  the 
place  where  the  soldiers  had  their  camp.  The  old 
man  was  no  manner  o'  protection,  for  he  was  so 
crippled  up  with  rheumatism  that  he  had  mighty 
little  use  of  his  feet  and  hands,  but  'Lizabeth  said  she 
felt  a  little  bit  safer  havin'  some  human  bein'  along 
with  her  crossin'  that  big  field. 

"  The  moon  was  about  in   its  third  quarter  that 
265 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

night,  and  'Lizabeth  said  if  the  sentries  had  been 
awake  they  could  'a'  seen  her  and  Uncle  Jake  creepin' 
through  the  high  weeds  in  the  field.  And  every  now  and 
then  she'd  stop  and  listen,  and  then  go  on  a  little 
piece  and  stop  and  listen  again,  and  that  way  they 
got  to  the  far  corner  of  the  field,  and  Uncle  Jake  he 
crouched  down  behind  a  big  oak  stump,  and  she 
crawled  under  the  bars  o'  the  fence,  and  there  was  the 
fires  all  burnin'  low,  but  givin'  enough  light  along 
with  the  moon  to  keep  her  from  stumblin'  over  the 
soldiers  lyin'  asleep  on  the  ground.  She  said  she 
gethered  her  skyirts  around  her  and  picked  her  way 
to  the  holler  tree  and  pulled  the  powder  out  and  put 
it  in  the  skyirt  of  her  dress  and  started  back.  She  said 
she  was  so  skeered  she  never  stopped  to  see  whether 
there  really  was  any  danger  of  fire  spreadin'  to  the 
tree  and  settin'  off  the  powder.  She  had  jest  one 
thought  in  her  mind,  and  that  was  to  git  the  powder 
and  go  back  home. 

"  Did  you  ever  dream,  child,  of  tryin'  to  go  some 
where  and  your  feet  feelin'  as  if  they  had  weights  on 
'em  and  you  couldn't  move  'em  ?  Well,  'Lizabeth  said 
that  was  the  way  she  felt  when  she  started  back  to 
the  fence  with  that  powder.  It  was  mighty  heavy 

266 


IN     WAR     TIME 

and  weighted  her  down,  so  that  she  had  to  walk  slow, 
and  she  could  hear  the  soldiers  breathin',  and  once 
one  of  'em  said  somethin'  in  his  sleep,  and  she  come 
pretty  near  faintin'  from  fright.  Every  step  seemed 
like  a  mile,  and  she  thought  she  never  would  git  back 
to  the  fence.  But  God  watched  over  her,  and  she  got 
out  o'  the  camp  and  back  to  the  house  safe  and  sound. 
She  said  when  she  stepped  up  on  her  back  porch  she 
felt  like  a  weight  as  heavy  as  the  powder  had  been 
taken  off  her  conscience,  and  she  went  up  stairs  and 
kneeled  down  and  thanked  God  for  givin'  her  courage 
to  do  the  right  thing,  and  then  she  went  to  bed  and 
slept  as  peaceful  as  a  child. 

"  Now,  you  may  think,  child,  that  'Lizabeth  put 
on  her  bonnet  and  come  over  and  told  me  this  the  day 
after  it  happened;  but  she  didn't.  'Lizabeth  never 
was  any  hand  to  talk  about  herself,  and  it  was  an 
accident  that  anybody  ever  heard  what  she'd  done. 
I  happened  to  be  at  her  house  one  day,  maybe  six 
months  or  so  after  the  war  was  over,  and  Harrison  was 
searchin'  around  in  the  closet,  pullin'  things  out  like 
I've  been  doin'  to-day,  and  he  come  across  the  powder. 
He  looked  at  it  a  minute,  and  says  he,  '  Why,  here's 
that  powder  I  hid  in  the  old  holler  tree;  I'd  clean 

267 


forgot  it.  How  did  it  get  here,  Mother  ?  '  And  'Liza- 
beth  says,  '  Why,  son,  I  went  and  got  it  the  night  the 
Yankees  camped  over  in  the  woods  at  the  back  o'  the 
house.'  Harrison  looked  at  her  like  he  thought  she 
was  talkin'  out  of  her  head,  and  says  he, '  What  did  you 
say,  Mother  ?  '  And  'Lizabeth  went  on  to  tell  him  jest 
what  I've  told  you,  as  unconcerned  as  if  she  was 
tellin'  about  walkin'  from  the  front  door  to  the  front 
gate.  And  when  she  got  through,  Harrison  drew  a 
long  breath,  and  says  he,  '  Mother,  I'm  proud  of  you ! 
That's  braver  than  anything  I  ever  did.  They  made 
me  a  captain,  but  you  ought  to  be  a  general.'  And 
'Lizabeth,  she  colored  up,  and  says  she,  '  Why,  son, 
any  woman  that  had  the  heart  of  a  mother  in  her 
would  'a'  done  jest  what  I  did.  It's  nothin'  to  make 
any  fuss  over.' 

"  I  ain't  overly  fond  o'  tellin'  stories  about  war 
times,  child,"  concluded  Aunt  Jane,  "  but  I  like  to 
tell  this,  for  it's  somethin'  that  ought  to  be  ricollected. 
Harrison  showed  me  a  big  book  once,  The  Ricords 
of  the  Rebellion,  and  his  name  as  big  as  life  on  one  o' 
the  pages,  tellin'  how  he  was  promoted  twice  in  one 
day;  but  'Lizabeth  outlived  her  husband  and  all  her 
children,  and  you  won't  find  so  much  as  a  stone  to 

268 


IN    WAR    TIME 

mark  her  grave,  and  in  a  little  while  nobody '11  ever 
know  that  such  a  woman  as  'Lizabeth  Taylor  ever 
lived;  yet,  it's  jest  as  Harrison  said;  what  she  did  was 
braver  than  anything  he  did.  And  it's  my  belief  that 
Harrison  never  would  'a'  been  the  soldier  he  was 
if  he  hadn't  had  his  mother's  conscience.  It  was 
'Lizabeth's  conscience  that  made  her  stand  up  in 
church  and  own  up  to  usin'  our  Mite  Society  money, 
and  made  her  leave  her  bed  that  night  and  risk  her 
life  for  the  lives  o'  them  soldier  boys,  and  it  was  her 
conscience  in  her  son  that  kept  him  at  his  post  on  the 
field  o'  battle  when  everybody  else  was  runnin'  off; 
and  that's  why  'Lizabeth's  name  ought  to  be  ricollected 
along  with  Harrison's." 

"  Poor  human  nature,"  we  sometimes  say,  forgetting 
that  through  every  character  runs  a  vein  of  gold. 
Now  and  then  kindly  chance  rends  the  base  earth 
that  covers  it  and  shows  us  a  hero  or  a  heroine.  But 
revealed  or  unrevealed,  all  human  nature  is  rich  in 
the  possibility  of  greatness. 

Here  and  there  we  build  a  monument;    but  if  for 

every  deed  of  noble  daring  some  memorial  were  raised, 

earth's  monuments  would  be  as  the  stars  of  heaven  or 

the  sands  of  the  sea;   the  names  of  the  lowly  and  the 

269 


THE   LAND    OF  LONG   AGO 

great  would  stand  side  by  side;  and  the  name  of  the 
mother  by  the  name  of  the  son.  For  the  valor  of 
man  is  a  mighty  stream  that  all  may  see  as  it  rolls 
through  the  ages,  changing  the  face  of  the  world, 
but  ofttimes  its  source  is  a  spring  of  courage  rising 
silently  from  the  secret  depths  of  an  unknown  woman's 
heart. 


270 


IX 
THE    WATCH -MEETING 


THE    WATCH  -  MEETING 

IT  was  the  thirty-first  of  December.  The  short 
winter  day  had  ended  in  a  golden  sunset,  and  the 
old  year  was  passing  in  a  night  of  stars.  Aunt  Jane 
and  I  stood  on  the  porch  looking  westward  at  the  clear 
wintry  sky,  where  the  radiance  from  the  silver  lamp 
of  Venus  gleamed  as  clearly  over  the  bare,  frozen  earth 
as  if  it  were  lighting  the  feet  of  lovers  through  the  rose- 

273 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

gardens  of  June.  All  the  winds  of  heaven  were  sleeping, 
and  the  cold  still  air  was  like  a  draught  from  a  mountain 
spring.  Our  eyes  were  on  the  same  star,  but  our 
thoughts  were  far  apart;  mine  with  the  years  to  come, 
and  Aunt  Jane's  with  the  years  that  were  past. 

"  Fine  night  for  a  watch-meetin',"  she  remarked 
at  last. 

"  A  watch-meeting  ? "  I  queried.  "  What  is  a 
watch-meeting  ?  " 

Aunt  Jane  turned  her  face  toward  me,  and  through 
the  darkness  I  felt  her  look  of  deep  reproach.  "  Child," 
she  said  gravely,  "  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  you 
don't  know  what  a  watch-meetin'  is,  and  you  livin'  in 
a  Christian  country  all  your  life?  Next  thing  you'll 
be  tellin'  me  you  don't  know  what  a  prayer-meetin* 
is.  However,  I  don't  know  as  you're  to  blame.  Your 
grandfather  and  grandmother  went  to  watch-meetin', 
and  your  mother  knows  what  it  is,  but  I  reckon  watch- 
meetin 's  are  as  much  out  o'  fashion  these  days  as  purple 
caliker  dresses  and  turkey-tail  fans.  In  my  day, 
child,  folks  went  to  church  New-year's  eve  and  sung 
and  prayed  the  old  year  out  and  the  new  year  in,  and 
that's  a  watch-meetin'." 

"  How  interesting !  "  I  exclaimed. 
274 


THE    WATCH-MEETING 

Aunt  Jane  chuckled  softly.  "  Yes,  it  was  mighty 
interestin',"  she  said,  "  and  there  was  one  watch- 
meetin'  I'll  never  forgit  as  long  as  I  live.  But  you  come 
into  the  house.  This  ain't  the  weather  for  old  folks 
or  young  folks  either  to  be  standin'  out  on  the  porch." 

We  went  in,  and  I  laid  a  stick  of  wood  on  the  andirons 
in  the  open  fireplace.  A  momentary  splendor  lit  the 
room  as  the  gray  moss  and  lichens  caught  fire  and  the 
swift  flames  ran  from  one  end  of  the  log  to  the  other 
and  then  died  out,  while  the  smoke  from  the  kindling 
wood  rose  in  the  huge  chimney. 

!e  There's  never  a  New-year's  eve  that  I  don't  think 
o'  that  watch-meetin',"  Aunt  Jane  continued,  "  and 
I  set  here  and  laugh  to  myself  over  the  times  we  used 
to  have  in  the  old  Goshen  church.  Jest  hand  me  my 
knittin',  child,  and  I'll  tell  you  about  that  meetin'. 
It's  jest  as  easy  to  talk  as  it  is  to  think." 

The  room  was  lighted  only  by  the  faint  glow  from 
the  fireplace,  but  Aunt  Jane  needed  no  lamp  or  candle 
to  guide  her  through  the  maze  of  stitches  in  the  heel  of 
the  gray  stocking.  I  sat  with  folded  hands  and  won 
dered  at  the  deft  fingers  that  wove  the  yarn  into  the 
web  of  the  stocking,  and  at  the  deft  brain  that,  from 
the  thread  of  old  memories,  could  weave  the  web  of 

275 


THE   LAND    OF   LONG   AGO 

a  story  in  which  was  caught  and  held  the  spirit  of  an 
older  day. 

"  The  night  o'  that  watch-meetin',"  began  Aunt 
Jane,  "  was  jest  such  a  night  as  this,  cold  and  clear 
and  still;  and  if  you're  wrapped  up  well  and  have  a 
good  warm  quilt  over  your  knees,  why,  it's  nothin* 
but  a  pleasure  to  ride  a  mile  or  so  to  the  church.  A 
watch-meetin'  is  different  from  any  other  church- 
meetin'.  It  generally  comes  on  a  week-day,  it  ain't 
preachin'  and  it  ain't  prayer-meetin',  and  you  don't 
have  to  remember  to  keep  the  day  holy;  so  you  can 
laugh  and  talk  goin'  and  comin'  and  before  the  meetin' 
begins.  Next  to  a  May-meetin'  a  watch-mee tin's 
about  the  pleasantest  sort  of  a  church-meetin'  there 
is. 

"  Now,  as  you  didn't  know  what  a  watch-meetin' 
is,  it  ain't  likely  you  know  what  a  May-meetin'  is, 

x 

either.  There,  now!  I  knew  you  wouldn't.  Well, 
child,  that  all  comes  o'  livin'  in  town.  Town's  a  fine 
place  to  go  to  once  in  a  while,  but  there's  a  heap  o' 
disadvantages  about  livin'  there  all  the  time.  A 
May-meetin'  is  the  first  Sunday  in  May,  when  we  all 
take  big  baskets  o'  dinner  to  the  church  and  eat  out 
doors  under  the  trees  after  preachin 's  over.  And  now 

276 


THE    WATCH-MEETING 

let  me  git  back  to  my  story  or,  the  first  thing  you  know, 
I'll  be  tellin'  about  a  May-meetin'  instead  of  a  watch- 
meetin'.  But  I  thought  I'd  better  explain  it  to  you 
right  now,  honey,  so's  you  won't  be  mortified  this  way 
again.  There's  some  things  everybody's  expected  to 
know,  and  this  is  one  of  'em. 

"  I  ricollect  jest  how  the  old  church  looked  the  night 
o'  that  watch-meetin'.  It  was  soon  after  we'd  got  the 
new  organ,  and  the  shine  hadn't  wore  off  the  new 
cyarpet  yet,  and  the  lamps  was  burning  bright  on  the 
stands  each  side  o'  the  pulpit  and  on  the  organ.  Some 
o'  the  young  folks  had  hung  branches  o'  pine  and  cedar 
around  the  walls  and  over  the  winders,  and  you  could 
hear  the  hickory  wood  cracklin'  and  poppin'  in  the 
stove  at  the  back  o'  the  church,  and  there  was  all  the 
Goshen  folks  sittin'  in  their  pews:  Sam  and  Milly, 
and  Hannah  and  Miles,  and  Maria  and  Silas,  and 
Uncle  Jim  and  Sally  Ann,  and  Parson  Page  down  in 
front  o'  the  pulpit  leanin'  back  in  his  chair  with  his  chin 
restin'  on  his  hand  and  his  other  hand  proppin'  up 
his  elbow.  The  young  folks  of  course  was  in  the  back 
part  o'  the  church,  where  they  could  talk  and  laugh 
without  bein'  seen  by  their  parents;  and  little  Sam 
Amos  and  two  or  three  more  o'  the  Goshen  boys, 

277 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

along  with  Martin  Luther  Wilson,  was  sittin'  down  on 
the  pulpit  steps,  where  they  could  see  everything  that 
was  to  be  seen  and  hear  everything  that  was  to  be 
heard." 

Aunt  Jane  began  to  laugh  gently,  and  the  knitting 
dropped  from  her  hands.  Another  moment  and  she 
would  have  slipped  away  to  the  watch-meeting  of  forty 
years  ago,  leaving  me  alone  in  the  quiet  shadow-haunted 
room;  but  I  called  her  back. 

"  How  did  Martin  Luther  happen  to  be  at  Goshen  ?  " 
I  asked.  It  was  an  idle  question,  but  it  served  my  pur 
pose. 

"  Why,  don't  you  ricollect  ?  "  said  Aunt  Jane  brightly. 
"  Brother  Wilson  preached  in  town,  but  after  Squire 
Schuyler  give  him  that  house  for  a  weddin'  fee  he  lived 
there.  That  was  betwixt  and  between  the  town  and 
the  country.  Martin  Luther  loved  the  country  jest 
like  his  father  did,  and  there  never  was  a  watch- 
meetin'  or  a  May-meetin'  that  Martin  Luther  wasn't 
on  hand;  but  I'm  bound  to  say  that  most  o'  the  time 
it  wasn't  for  any  good. 

"  Well,  by  nine  o'clock  everything  was  ready  for 
the  watch-meetin'  to  begin,  and  Parson  Page  set  the 
clock  on  the  floor  back  o'  the  pulpit  —  it  sounds  a  heap 

278 


THE    WATCH-MEETING 

solemner  at  a  watch-meetin',  child,  to  hear  the  clock 
strike  when  you  can't  see  it  —  and  then  he  give  out 
the  first  hymn: 

"  '  A  few  more  years  shall  roll, 
A  few  more  seasons  come, 
And  we  shall  be  with  those  that  rest, 
Asleep  within  the  tomb. 

"  '  A  few  more  suns  shall  set 

O'er  these  dark  hills  of  time, 
And  we  shall  be  where  suns  are  not, 
A  far  serener  clime.' ': 

To  me  there  seemed  nothing  joy-inspiring  in  the  old 
hymn,  but  Aunt  Jane  smiled  radiantly  as  she  chanted 
the  melancholy  words  that  held  in  their  cadences  the 
voices  of  the  choir  and  the  music  of  the  organ  in  the 
old  country  church. 

"  That's  one  o'  the  hymns  we  always  sung  at  a 
watch-meetin',"  she  observed,  "  that  and 

" '  Lo,  on  a  narrow  neck  of  land 

'Twixt  two  unbounded  seas  I  stand.' 

"  I  love  every  one  o'  the  old  hymns,  child,  jest  as 
much  as  I  love  my  Bible,  and  I  can  take  that  hymn- 
book  yonder  and  read  over  the  hymns  we  used  to  sing 

279 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

at  prayer-meetin'  and  communion  and  funerals  and 
baptizin's,  and  I  declare  it's  jest  like  livin'  over  again 
all  the  Sundays  of  my  life.  When  we  got  through 
singin'  the  hymn  Parson  Page  read  a  chapter  out  o' 
the  Bible.  It  was  the  ninetieth  psalm,  the  one  that 
begins,  '  Lord,  thou  hast  been  our  dwelling  place  in 
all  generations  '  ;  and  then  he  give  us  a  little  talk,  not 
a  sermon  exactly,  but  jest  a  little  talk  about  the  new  year 
and  the  old  year.  I  ricollect  pretty  much  all  he  said 
as  well  as  if  it  was  yesterday.  He  said  that  there  was 
nothin'  sad  about  the  passin'  of  the  years,  and  every 
New-year's  eve  ought  to  be  a  time  for  rejoicin'  ;  that 
Me  was  jest  a  gainin'  and  a  losin'  and  the  two  balanced 
pretty  even.  Every  year  we  lost  a  little  of  our  youth 
and  a  little  of  our  strength,  but  we  gained  in  wisdom 
and  understandin'.  He  said  if  we'd  improved  our 
time  and  come  up  to  our  opportunities  durin'  the  past 
year,  we  could  go  forward  joyfully  to  meet  the  new  year, 
and  if  we  hadn't,  why,  still  there  wasn't  any  reason 
for  givin'  up  and  feelin'  downhearted,  for  the  mercy 
of  the  Lord  was  infinite,  and  there  was  always  another 
chance  waitin'  for  us,  and  if  a  man  turned  over  a  new 
leaf  and  made  up  his  mind  to  do  better,  every  day  was 
a  New-year's  day. 

280 


THE    WATCH-MEETING 

"  And  then  he  called  on  the  men  folks  to  tell  what 
their  experience  had  been  durin'  the  past  year,  and  jest 
as  Uncle  Jim  Mathews  got  up  to  tell  his  experience 
the  clock  struck  ten,  and  Uncle  Jim  says :  '  Brethren, 
yon  hear  that  ?  Jest  two  more  hours  of  this  year  is  left 
to  us.'  Says  he,  'I  don't  know  how  it  is  with  the  rest 
of  you,  but  for  my  part  I  feel  that  this  has  been  a  profit 
able  year  for  my  soul.  I  feel,'  says  he,  '  that  I  have 
grown  in  grace  and  in  the  knowledge  of  the  Lord,  that 
my  faith  has  been  strengthened,  that  patience  has  had 
her  perfect  work  in  me,  and  that  I'm  nearer  to  the 
kingdom  than  I  ever  was  '  ;  and  he  went  on  this  way 
for  about  ten  minutes,  and  Sally  Ann  whispered  to  me 
and  says  she,  '  If  one-half  o'  that's  true,  the  Lord 
ought  to  send  down  a  chariot  of  fire  and  take  Uncle 
Jim  up  to  heaven  this  very  night.' 

"  Then  Uncle  Jerry  Amos  got  up  and  says  he, 
'  Brethren,  I  thank  the  Lord  that  during  the  past  year 
I  have  grown  more  charitable  toward  my  fellow  men.' 
And  to  save  our  lives  we  couldn't  help  laughin'  at  that, 
for  if  there  was  anything  Uncle  Jerry  didn't  need  it 
was  more  charity.  I  ricollect  when  old  man  Abner 
Simpson  died  —  he  was  a  mighty  mean  man,  so  mean 
that  Parson  Page  had  a  heap  o'  trouble  to  preach  the 

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THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

right  kind  of  a  funeral  sermon  about  him  —  and  right 
after  the  funeral  Uncle  Jerry  heard  some  o'  the  neighbors 
talkin'  about  him  and  says  he:  '  Boys,  ain't  you 
ashamed  to  be  talkin'  this  way  about  the  dead  ?  Don't 
you  know  you  mustn't  say  anything  but  good  about 
the  dead,  or  the  livin'  either,  for  that  matter  ?  '  And 
Bush  Elrod  says,  *  Now,  Uncle  Jerry,  you  know  nobody 
could  say  anything  good  about  old  man  Abner;  you 
couldn't  yourself.'  And  Uncle  Jerry  says:  'Yes,  I 
can.  Jest  give  me  time,  and  I  can  think  o'  plenty  o' 
good  things  to  say  about  him.'  And  he  stood  and 
thought  and  thought,  and  the  rest  o'  the  men  laughin' 
at  him,  and  Bush  Elrod  says,  '  You'll  have  to  give 
it  up,  Uncle  Jerry.'  But  Uncle  Jerry  says,  '  No,  there 
never  was  a  human  bein'  that  somethin'  good  couldn't 
be  said  about  him.'  And  pretty  soon  he  slapped  his 
side  and  says  he :  'I've  got  it !  He  had  a  good  appetite. ' 
That's  why  we  all  had  to  laugh  when  Uncle  Jerry 
said  he'd  grown  more  charitable  toward  his  fellow  men. 
"  Well,  all  the  men  folks  got  up  and  told  what  progress 
in  grace  they'd  made  durin'  the  year,  and  I  ricollect 
Sam  Amos  sayin'  it  was  astonishin'  how  many  saints 
there  was  in  Goshen  church,  but  nobody  knew  anything 
about  'em  till  we  had  an  experience-meetin'.  After 

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THE    WATCH-MEETING 

the  experiences  had  all  been  give  in  we  sung  another 
hymn  and  had  another  prayer.  Then  the  clock  struck 
eleven,  and  Parson  Page  said,  *  We  will  spend  a  little 
time  in  forming  good  resolutions  for  the  coming  year.' 
And  after  we'd  set  there  a  while  makin'  our  resolutions 
and  had  some  more  singin'  and  prayin',  he  said, 
'  Brethren  and  sisters,  let  us  give  the  remaining  minutes 
of  the  old  year  to  silent  prayer  for  grace  that  will  help 
us  to  keep  the  good  resolutions  we've  made  for  the  new 
year  that  is  so  close  at  hand.'  And  we  all  bowed  our 
heads  feelin'  mighty  solemn,  everything  so  still  you 
could  hear  the  folks  around  you  breathin'  and  the  old 
clock  back  o'  the  pulpit  tickin',  tickin'  away  the  minutes 
o'  the  old  year.  And  we  set  there  expectin'  every 
minute  to  hear  the  first  stroke  o'  twelve. 

'*  I  ricollect  Abram  had  rheumatism  in  the  muscles 
of  his  neck  that  winter,  and  leanin'  over  was  mighty 
painful  to  him;  so  pretty  soon  he  straightened  up, 
but  all  the  rest  of  us  kept  our  heads  bowed  on  the  back 
o'  the  pew  in  front  of  us,  and  waited  for  the  clock  to 
strike.  Somehow  or  other  the  time  seemed  mighty 
long,  and  everybody  begun  to  feel  restless.  Sam  Amos 
was  hi  the  pew  jest  across  the  aisle  from  me  and  Abram 
and  I  saw  him  take  out  his  watch  and  look  at  it,  and 

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THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

Uncle  Jim  Mathews  dropped  off  to  sleep  and  got  to 
snorin',  and  that  set  the  young  folks  to  laughin',  and 
everybody  got  tired  leanin'  their  heads  over  so  long, 
and  every  now  and  then  somebody  would  straighten 
up,  till  at  last  everybody  was  settin'  up  straight  except 
two  or  three  that  was  fast  asleep.  And  still  the  clock 
didn't  strike,  and  I  reckon  we'd  'a'  stayed  there  till 
daylight  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Sam  Amos.  Everybody 
knew  there  was  something  wrong,  but  nobody  had  the 
courage  to  git  up  and  say  so  except  Sam.  He  rose 
up  in  his  pew  and  says  he,  *  Neighbors,  I  don't  want 
to  disturb  this  watch-meetin',  but  it  looks  to  me  like 
one  of  two  things  has  happened:  either  the  new  year's 
got  lost  on  the  way  or  the  old  year's  took  a  notion  to 
stay  with  us  a  little  longer,  and,'  says  he,  '  I  move  that 
somebody  goes  behind  the  pulpit  and  sees  if  there  ain't 
somethin'  wrong  with  the  clock.' 

"  Well,  Parson  Page  he  got  up  and  went  up  the 
pulpit  steps  —  I  ricollect  he  had  to  step  over  Martin 
Luther's  legs;  Martin  Luther  was  lyin'  over  on  his 
face  sound  asleep  —  and  he  stooped  down  and  looked 
at  the  clock,  and  then  he  threw  up  his  hands  and  says 
he:  *  Why,  bless  my  soul!  It's  nearly  one  o'clock.' 

"  Well,  with  that  the  young  folks  begun  to  laugh 
284 


THE    WATCH-MEETING 

scandalous,    and   everybody   jumped   up    and   begun 
talkin'  at  once.     Abram  says,  '  The  strikin'  part  o' 
that  clock  must  be  out  o'  fix.'    And  Parson  Page  says, 
*  That  can't  be,  for  I  carried  it  to  town  last  week  and 
had  it  put  in  order  especially  for  this  occasion.'    And 
Milly  Amos  says,  *  Why  didn't  some  o'  you  men  folks 
look  at  your  watches  instead  o'  lettin'  us  sit  here  wastin' 
all  this  good  time  ?  '     And  Sam  Amos  says,  '  I  did 
look  at  mine,  but  it  didn't  do  much  good,  for  I  forgot 
to  wind  it  last  night,  and  it  had  stopped  at  half-past 
five  in  the  mornin'  or  the  evenin',  I  couldn't  tell  which.' 
And  Silas  Petty  said  his  watch  hadn't  been  keepin' 
good  time  lately,  and  he  didn't  think  it  was  worth  while 
to  look  at  it.    And  Parson  Page  said  he  laid  his  watch 
on  the  bureau  and  forgot  to  put  it  back  in  his  vest 
pocket  when  he  put  on  his  Sunday  clothes.    And  some 
body  says,  '  Maybe  the  clock  struck  and  we  didn't 
hear  it.'    And  Abram  says:     'I'm  pretty  certain  the 
strikin'  part  o'  that  clock  is  out  o'  fix.     Probably  it 
got  jarred  bringin'  it  over  here.' 

"  Jest  then  the  old  clock  struck  one,  as  loud  and  clear 
as  you  please.  And  Parson  Page  says:  *  Do  you  hear 
that?  There's  nothing  wrong  with  the  clock;  it  must 
be  our  ears  that  are  out  of  fix.'  And  Silas  Petty  says: 

285 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

'  There's  nothin'  the  matter  with  my  ears.  It's  my 
opinion  some  o'  those  rascally  boys  have  been  foolin' 
with  the  clock  jest  to  play  a  trick  on  us.  They've  had 
a  mighty  good  chance  at  it,  sprawlin'  around  here  on 
the  floor  and  the  clock  out  o'  sight  behind  the  pulpit.' 
Little  Sam  Amos  and  the  Crawford  boys  they  spoke 
up  and  says  they,  '  We  never  touched  the  clock,'  and 
Milly  says:  'You  can't  lay  it  on  little  Sam.  He's 
been  fast  asleep  for  the  last  two  hours.'  And  somebody 
says,  '  Where's  Martin  Luther  ?  '  and  we  all  looked 
around,  and  Parson  Page  says,  '  Why,  he  must  be 
here;  he  was  sound  asleep  on  the  floor  when  I  stepped 
up  here  to  examine  the  clock.'  And  Sam  Amos  says, 
*  Look  a-yonder,  will  you  ?  '  and  he  p'inted  toward 
the  winder,  and  there  was  Martin  Luther  up  on  the 
winder-sill  outside,  with  his  face  right  up  against  the 
glass  and  his  nose  all  flattened  out,  and  grinnin'  like 
a  Cheshire  cat.  And  as  soon  as  he  saw  us  lookin' 
at  him,  he  dropped  down  to  the  ground  and  give  a 
whoop  like  a  wild  Indian  and  went  tearin'  down  the 
road  as  hard  as  he  could  foot  it  in  the  direction  of 
Schuyler  Hall. 

"  Well,  honey,  it  was  right  aggravatin'.    You  know 
country  folks  have  to  work  hard  and  git  up  early,  and 

286 


THE    WATCH-MEETING 

there  we'd  lost  a  good  hour  o'  sleep  all  for  nothing 
and  a  madder  set  o'  folks  you  never  saw,  all  but  the 
young  folks.  They  laughed  and  laughed,  and  of 
course  that  made  us  all  still  madder.  Silas  Petty  and 
Dave  Crawford  begun  blessin'  Martin  Luther  and 
say  in'  what  ought  to  be  done  to  him  and  how  they  was 
goin'  to  let  Brother  Wilson  know  about  this  as  soon  as 
day  broke,  and  Sam  Amos  he  listened  to  'em  a  while 
and  then  says  he:  *  Now  here  it  is,  the  new  year  jest 
an  hour  old,  and  you  church-members  are  breakin' 
every  one  o'  your  good  resolutions  about  keepin' 
your  temper  and  bein'  charitable  to  your  neighbors. 
Can't  you  make  allowances  for  a  boy  ?  '  And  Uncle 
Jerry  says :  '  That's  right,  Sam.  What's  the  use  in 
takin'  notice  of  a  boy's  pranks?  We've  all  been 
boys  once  —  all  except  the  women  folks  —  and  there 
ain't  one  of  us  that  hasn't  rocked  houses  and  stole 
watermelons  and  robbed  orchards  and  disturbed 
meetin'  and  done  all  the  rest  o'  the  devilment  that 
boys  delight  in.  But  jest  let  a  boy  play  a  joke  on  us 
and  we  forgit  all  about  the  sins  of  our  youth.  To  hear 
us  talk,  a  person  would  think  that  we  was  born  sixty 
years  old.'  Says  he:  'All  we've  lost  is  an  hour's 
sleep,  and  we  can  make  that  up  by  goin'  to  bed  earlier 

287 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

to-morrow  night.  Now,  why  not  overlook  this  little 
caper  of  Martin  Luther's  and  begin  the  new  year  in 
a  good  humor  with  everything  and  everybody  ?  ' 

"  And  Sam  Amos  he  begun  to  laugh,  and  he  laughed 
till  he  had  to  set  down,  and  he  kept  on  till  Milly  got 
skeered  and  beat  him  in  the  back  to  make  him  stop, 
and  finally  he  got  his  breath  and  says  he,  *  I'm  laughin' 
to  think  how  we  all  looked  settin'  here  at  one  o'clock 
in  the  mornin'  waitin'  to  hear  the  clock  strike  twelve.' 
And  then  he  started  out  again,  and  we  laughed  with 
him,  and  everybody  went  home  in  a  good  humor.  I 
ricollect  me  and  Abram  had  an  argument  on  the  way 
home  about  whether  it  was  worth  while  to  go  to  bed 
or  not.  Abram  said  it  was  worth  while  to  go  to  bed 
if  you  couldn't  sleep  but  a  half-hour,  but  betwixt 
laughin'  and  ridin'  in  the  cold  air  I  was  so  wide  awake 
I  felt  like  I  never  wanted  to  sleep  again;  and  I  went  to 
work  and  cleaned  up  the  house  and  cut  out  some 
sewin'  and  had  breakfast  ready  by  half-past  four. 
I  never  made  that  sleep  up,  child,  and  I  never  felt 
any  worse  for  it.  You  know  what  the  Bible  says, 
*  As  thy  days  so  shall  thy  strength  be,'  and  when  a 
person's  young,  there's  strength  for  the  day  and  more 
besides." 

288 


THE    WATCH-MEETING 

Aunt  Jane  dropped  her  knitting  and  rested  her 
head  against  the  patchwork  cover  of  the  high-backed 
chair.  Like  a  great  wall  of  shelter  and  defense,  we 
felt  around  us  the  deep  stillness  of  a  midwinter  night 
in  the  country.  The  last  traveler  had  gone  his  home 
ward  way  over  the  pike  hours  ago,  and  in  the  quiet 
room  we  could  hear  now  and  then  those  faint  noises 
made  by  shrinking  timbers,  as  if  the  old  house  groaned 
in  the  icy  clutch  of  the  December  cold,  and,  louder 
and  clearer  than  by  day,  the  voice  of  the  clock  ticking 
away  the  last  hours  of  the  old  year. 

What  is  there  in  the  flight  of  years  to  sadden  the 
heart  ?  Our  little  times  and  seasons  are  but  fragments 
of  eternity,  and  eternity  is  ours.  The  sunset  on  which 
we  gaze  with  melancholy  eyes  is  a  sunrise  on  the  other 
side  of  the  world,  and  the  vanishing  days  can  take 
from  us  nothing  that  may  not  be  restored  by  some 
day  yet  unborn.  Eternity!  Immortality!  If  mortal 
mind  could  but  fathom  the  depth  of  these  ideas,  they 
would  be  as  wells  of  peace  in  which  all  trouble,  all 
regret,  would  be  forever  drowned.  But  as  Aunt  Jane 
and  I  sat  alone  by  her  deserted  hearth  we  saw  the 
shadows  of  the  night  deepening  while  the  fire  burned 
low,  and  in  our  hearts  we  felt  another  and  a  darker 

289 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

shadow  cast  by  the  wing  of  the  passing  year.  And, 
breaking  our  dreams,  the  clock  struck  ten.  Aunt 
Jane  gave  a  start,  and  the  ball  of  yarn  fell  from  her 
lap.  She  picked  it  up  before  I  could  reach  it,  and 
winding  the  yarn  and  rolling  the  stocking  around  the 
ball  she  called  in  her  wandering  thoughts  and  entered 
instantly  into  the  life  of  the  present  hour. 

"  Light  the  lamp,  child,"  she  said,  "  and  hand  me 
my  Bible.  The  Scripture's  got  a  word  suitable  for 
every  season,  and  I'll  read  you  the  psalm  that  Parson 
Page  read  the  night  the  clock  didn't  strike." 

Reverently  she  laid  the  heavy  calf-bound  volume 
across  her  knees,  and  turning  the  leaves  with  swift 
and  certain  fingers  she  found  the  ninetieth  psalm  as 
readily  as  the  twentieth-century  woman  finds  Sordello 
in  her  complete  Browning.  Centuries  ago,  a  Hebrew, 
standing  on  one  of  the  mountain  peaks  of  old  age, 
saw  in  a  vision  the  little  lives  and  the  little  deeds  of 
men  outlined  against  a  background  of  the  "  eternal 
years  of  God."  He  put  the  vision  into  words,  and 
because  they  held  a  universal  thought,  a  burden  of 
the  soul  in  every  age  and  clime,  those  words  have 
outlasted  kingdoms  and  dynasties.  I  had  often  heard 
the  rhythmic  lines  rolling  from  priestly  lips  and  echo- 

290 


REVERENTLY   SHE    LAID  THE  HEAVY    CALF-BOUND   VOLUME 

ACROSS  HER   KNEES." 

Page  290. 


THE    WATCH-MEETING 

ing  under  cathedral  arches,  but  never  had  they  moved 
me  as  now,  when  by  the  dying  fire  in  the  last  hours 
of  a  dying  year,  I  heard  them,  half  chanted,  half  read, 
in  the  tremulous  voice  of  an  old  woman  whose  feet 
were  on  the  same  height  and  whose  eyes  beheld  the 
same  vision: 

"  Lord,  thou  hast  been  our  dwelling  place  in  all 
generations. 

"  Before  the  mountains  were  brought  forth,  or 
ever  thou  hadst  formed  the  earth  and  the  world,  even 
from  everlasting  to  everlasting,  thou  art  God. 

"Thou  turnest  man  to  destruction;  and  sayest, 
Return,  ye  children  of  men. 

"  For  a  thousand  years  in  thy  sight  are  but  as  yes 
terday  when  it  is  past,  and  as  a  watch  in  the  night. 

"  Thou  carriest  them  away  as  with  a  flood;  they 
are  as  a  sleep:  in  the  morning  they  are  like  grass 
which  groweth  up. 

"  In  the  morning  it  flourisheth,  and  groweth  up;  in 
the  evening  it  is  cut  down,  and  withereth.  .  .  . 

"  For  all  our  days  are  passed  away  in  thy  wrath; 
we  spend  our  years  as  a  tale  that  is  told. 

"  The  days  of  our  years  are  threescore  years  and  ten; 
291 


THE   LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

and  if  by  reason  of  strength  they  be  fourscore  years, 
yet  is  their  strength  labor  and  sorrow;  for  it  is  soon 
cut  off,  and  we  fly  away.  .  .  . 

"  So  teach  us  to  number  our  days,  that  we  may 
apply  our  hearts  unto  wisdom.  .  .  . 

"  O  satisfy  us  early  with  thy  mercy;  that  we  may 
rejoice  and  be  glad  all  our  days. 

"  Make  us  glad  according  to  the  days  wherein  thou 
hast  afflicted  us,  and  the  years  wherein  we  have  seen 
evil. 

"  Let  thy  work  appear  unto  thy  servants,  and  thy 
glory  unto  their  children. 

"  And  let  the  beauty  of  the  Lord  our  God  be  upon 
us;  and  establish  thou  the  work  of  our  hands  upon 
us;  yea,  the  work  of  our  hands  establish  thou  it." 

Aunt  Jane  removed  her  glasses  and  folded  her 
withered  hands  over  the  sacred  pages.  "  You  know, 
child,"  she  said,  "  the  Bible's  the  word  of  God.  I 
ain't  questionin'  that.  But  it  looks  like  to  me  there's 
some  o'  the  words  of  man  in  it,  too.  Now  this  psalm 
I've  jest  read  is  the  very  one  to  read  at  a  watch-meetin' 
on  New-year's  eve  because  it's  all  about  time  and  life 
and  the  passin'  o'  the  years,  but  there's  some  o'  the 

292 


THE    WATCH-MEETING 

verses  I'd  like  to  leave  out.  There's  that  tenth  one 
about  *  the  days  of  our  years  '  and  the  strength  of  our 
years.  I  reckon  we  all  feel  like  sayin'  such  things 
when  we  git  tired  and  it  looks  like  we  haven't  done 
the  work  we  set  out  to  do,  but  that's  the  sort  o'  feelin* 
to  keep  to  ourselves.  It  don't  do  any  good  to  tell  such 
feelin's.  And  when  a  man  can  say  that  the  Lord  has 
been  his  dwellin'  place  in  all  generations,  he  oughtn't 
to  turn  right  around  and  say  that  the  strength  of  his 
years  is  jest  labor  and  sorrow.  The  trouble  with  some 
folks  is  that  they're  always  lookin'  back  and  countin' 
the  years  wherein  they  have  seen  evil,  but  they  don't 
ricollect  that  the  Lord's  promise  is  to  make  us  glad 
accordin'  to  the  evil  years.  Trouble  has  got  to  come 
to  us,  child,  but  whenever  it  comes  we  ought  to  know 
there's  happiness  comin'  to  make  up  for  it  jest  like 
this  psalm  says,  '  Make  us  glad  according  to  the  days 
wherein  thou  hast  afflicted  us,  and  the  years  wherein 
we  have  seen  evil.'  I've  lived  pretty  near  eighty  years, 
and  I've  had  my  share  o'  trouble,  but  I'm  far  from 
sayin'  that  the  strength  of  my  years  is  nothin'  but 
labor  and  sorrow.  I  never  had  a  sorrow  that  I  didn't 
know  there  was  a  happiness  comin'  to  make  up  for 
it.  I've  spent  my  life  *  as  a  tale  that  is  told,'  and  I'm 

293 


THE  LAND   OF  LONG  AGO 

nearly  to  the  end  of  it,  but  I'd  be  right  glad,  child, 
if  I  could  go  back  to  the  beginnin'  and  have  it  told  all 
over  again." 

It  is  easy  to  pronounce  a  benediction  on  life  when 
life  is  in  its  morning;  but  with  the  darkness  of  the  long 
night  closing  around  us  the  words  that  rise  most  often 
to  human  lips  are  the  words  of  the  cynic  king  who, 
from  "  the  dazzling  height  of  a  throne,"  surveyed  the 
magnificent  ruin  of  his  years  and  said, 

"Vanity  of  vanities;    all  is  vanity." 

God  once  looked  at  a  seething  chaos  which  he  called 
his  world  and  pronounced  it  good.  Only  a  divinity 
could  do  this.  And  only  the  divinity  in  man  enables 
one  to  look  back  on  the  chaos  of  sorrow,  ecstasy,  hope, 
despair,  labor,  failure,  sin,  and  suffering  which  we  call 
life  and  say,  "  It  is  all  good;  I  would  live  it  again  if 
I  might." 

Aunt  Jane  closed  her  Bible  and  laid  it  on  the  mahog 
any  centre-table.  "  Half-past  ten  o'clock,"  she  said, 
glancing  at  the  clock  in  the  corner.  "  I  sometimes 
think,  honey,  that  I'd  like  to  watch  the  old  year  out 
once  more,  for  there's  somethin'  about  the  night  that 
the  day  hasn't  got.  But  I'm  too  old  to  lose  sleep  unless 
there's  a  good  reason  for  it,  so  cover  up  the  fire  and 

294 


THE    WATCH-MEETING 

we'll  sleep  the  old  year  out  instead  o'  watchin'  it  out. 
This  night's  no  more'n  any  other  night,  and  it's  jest 
as  Parson  Page  said,  every  day's  a  New-year's 
day." 


295 


By  the  author  of  "  The  Land  of  Long  Ago" 


AUNT 
JANE  OF  KENTUCKY 


By  ELIZA   CALVERT  HALL 

Illustrated  by  Beulah  Strong.     12mo.     Cloth.     $1.30 


Aunt  Jane  is  perfectly  delightful.  —  The  Outlook,  New 
York. 

A  book  that  plays  on  the  heart  strings.  —  St.  Louis 
Post-Despatch. 

What  Mrs.  Gaskill  did  in  "  Cranford "  this  author  does 
for  Kentucky.  —  Syracuse  Herald. 

A  prose  idyl.  Nothing  more  charming  has  appeared 
in  recent  fiction.  —  MARGARET  E.  SANGSTER. 

These  pages  have  in  them  much  of  the  stuff  that  makes 
genuine  literature.  —  Louisville  Courier  Journal. 

Where  so  many  have  made  caricatures  of  old-time 
country  folk,  Eliza  Calvert  Hall  has  caught  at  once  the 
real  charm,  the  real  spirit,  the  real  people,  and  the  real 
joy  of  living  which  was  theirs.  — New  York  Times. 

Have  you  read  that  charming  little  book  written  by  one 
of  your  clever  Kentucky  women  —  "  Aunt  Jane  of  Ken 
tucky" —  by  Eliza  Calvert  Hall?  It  is  very  wholesome 
and  attractive.  Be  sure  that  you  read  it.  —  THEODORE 
ROOSEVELT. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
34  BEACON  STREET,  BOSTON 


Miss  Wallers  Latest  Book 


FLAMSTED  QUARRIES 


By  MARY  E.  WALLER 

Author  of  "  The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus  " 
"  A  Daughter  of  the  Rich,"  etc. 

Illustrated  by  G.  Patrick  Nelson.     Cloth,  $1.50 


"Flamsted  Quarries"  is  an  American  story  of  great 
interest,  the  strongest  book  produced  by  Miss  Waller 
since  the  famous  "  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus."  The  story 
is  a  powerful  exposition,  through  characterization  of 
present-day  conditions  of  American  life — social  and  in 
dustrial.  The  heroine  is  the  child  of  Irish  immigrants ; 
the  scenes  of  the  book  are  laid  in  New  York  and  at  the 
granite  quarries  of  Maine. 

As  in  "The  Wood-carver  of  'Lympus,"  Miss  Waller 
emphasizes  the  nobility  and  dignity  of  work  and  its  heal 
ing  power,  and  gives  a  true  lesson  from  the  heart  of  self- 
sacrifice  and  love. 

"  Flamsted  Quarries  "  is  likely  to  add  to  Miss  Waller's 
reputation  as  an  author,  and  it  will  undoubtedly  prove  as 
popular  as  "  A  Daughter  of  the  Rich "  and  "  The  Wood- 
carver  of  'Lympus." 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &   CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
34  BEACON  STREET,  BOSTON 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


±   OCU619811 
'OCT161981 


Form  L9-Series  4939 


158005323885 


PS 


i 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  L  BRARY  FACILITY 


AA      000118675    8 


